Soft Touch Raw Nerve
by Mistofstars
Summary: Due to a hunt gone wrong, Dean has an injured leg; he has to stay in a rehab-center for the next six weeks, while Sam continues the hunter's life on his own. The only glimmer of light is Castiel, Dean's physiotherapist, and how they come closer to each other as time goes by. DESTIEL (semi-)AU
1. Chapter 1

**Author: **Mistofstars

**Pairing: **Dean Winchester / Castiel

**Warnings: **language, sappy, romance, drama, slow build, smut, semi-canon until season 2, AU, hurt, comfort, waff, fluff, sportive activities (really, I mean the sport, as in -sport-, eww), terrible attempts of humour, medical terms (with explanations, don't worry) and possibly inaccuracies about doctor's stuff (though I did some research), UST within the first chapters, reciting poetry (gross! I know)

**Disclaimer: **Dean and Sam Winchester, as well as Castiel, John, Ash and Garth of Supernatural are not my invention – they belong to the writers and creators of Supernatural. No copyright infringement intended. I don't make money with this, all of it is made up.

**Author's note: **The title of this fic derives from the same-named song of Depeche Mode. I want to thank Faith-Valconbridge aka fvalconbridge for her endless patience and her support, her kind words whenever I moan about this story and bend her ears via Skype. Thanks a lot, hun! You should really check out her stories hehe... My absolute respect and infinite thanks goes as well to Angelpheonixwings14, who beta-read the first chapter in record time and made really helpful suggestions. Her input was worth a million, and I had to laugh a lot when she pointed out my mistakes and tried to shorten / save my terrible-lengthy sentences. I'll never get the hang of commas, and all remaining mistakes you will find are my obstinacy to fix them or simply my ignorance. Please notice, this thing is still a work-in-progess, and I have to underline the slow-build-warning (aka pls have patience with me!)

**Feedback?: **Highly appreciated

**Soft Touch / Raw Nerve**

**Chapter 1**

It happened in the depths of a spring's Saturday night, in the middle of nowhere. Neither Sam nor Dean were prepared for such an incident, though they had made enough arrangements for the interrogation. As it became apparent they wouldn't get acceptable results, they expelled the demonic creature, and that was where it all went wrong.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas", Sam said, trying to speak distinctly. They were exorcising the umpteenth demon, and, as always, Dean was glad he didn't have to say the Latin words. He admitted they were useful, but whenever he spoke them, he thought his tongue would twist into a knot. With grim satisfaction he watched the woman's possessed body twitch, and the demon's black eyes stared at the Winchester brothers furiously. It wouldn't take long now, and she would return straight to hell. Dean looked around to make sure they were still alone; it was a starless night, and they were in between towns. Only green, thriving cornfields were around them. They had sprayed a devil's trap on the road to summon a demon to interrogate it – Dean wasn't even that frustrated anymore, when another demon refused to answer them their questions. She wasn't the first to deny them. He gnawed at his bottom lip as he watched Sam finishing his exorcism; he wondered, how much longer could they do that until their luck would run out? There was a fine line between interviewing a demon once and getting away with it, and interrogating a dozen and hoping they wouldn't draw too much attention.

This time, the exorcism didn't go as smoothly as they had planned; the ground was vibrating, and Dean could feel the asphalt crack underneath his boots. He furrowed his brows when he regarded the shaking demon, who was causing such a disturbance. He and Sam shared confused looks, and Sam shrugged his shoulders and continued speaking the last Latin words. With widened eyes, Dean saw the nearby tree at the roadside uprooting, and he held his breath as he wanted to warn Sam. It was too late; it all happened so damn quickly. He heard himself yell "Sam!", and in an instant, Dean lunged for him and threw him on the ground to rescue him from the falling tree. Then there was a terrible pain in Dean's right leg, and he screamed in agony, as a heavy weight came to rest on the backside of his calf. Sam lay underneath him, and Dean could hear a gasped "Dean!" coming from his younger brother. It was very strenuous to uplift his eyes and meet Sam's gaze; their eyes met through the night's bluish twilight, and Dean detected the concern in Sam's eyes. Above them, they recognized a familiar black fog, twirling in midair for a lengthy second. In awe, they observed the cloud of demon waft through the air, then it faded away with a swoosh.

Dean could concentrate on his body again, and he grunted and whimpered, full of suffering, as he tried to roll the tree trunk from his right calf. Inside of his right leg, there was already a horrendous, throbbing pain. It was piercing and it made Dean see white flashes of light in front of his eyes. He felt light-headed, overwhelmed with the ache coursing through his system. He gritted his teeth when Sam slid away underneath him and moved the fallen tree. Now that the weight was gone, the pain felt even worse. Dean cried out and cursed, as he carefully turned around to lie on his back. He and Sam shared worried looks, before Sam knelt down in front of him and pulled up Dean's pants leg carefully. Dean was writhing with so much pain, he couldn't even suppress the tortured sob when Sam gently touched his bare calf and examined it thoroughly.

"Move your leg", he ordered, and Dean tried to, but the limb didn't stir an inch. Frustrated he tried it again, and again, but nothing happened.

"Dean, I'm not a doctor, but I think you've got a tendon rupture. We gotta take you to a hospital", Sam said calmly. Dean cursed some more and hit the asphalt with a fist. Wrath boiled within him. If Sam was right, he would be knocked out for who-knew-how-long. It was an absolute no-go, now that they were trying to find the demon of whom they assumed had killed their father... Though their conversations with the last demons hadn't been too revealing, Dean felt they were drawing closer to the finish line. And now _this _had to happen! Dean was beyond embarrassed, when Sam had to help him up and as he hobbled to the Impala. Every movement hurt, the sharp pain seeming omnipresent. Sam gave him a sympathetic look as Dean leaned his forehead against the car's side window, a fierce expression veiling his features. Sam started the engine, and Dean was too focused on his maimed leg, that he didn't even complain once about Sam's style of driving.

The ride to the next hospital seemed to take forever, and the pain within Dean's calf was enhancing. He gritted his teeth and tried to take it like a man, but sometimes he couldn't help but whimper in agony. Sam made him inspect his leg with the light of his cell phone, and whenever Dean studied it with shaking fingers, he saw it was swelling and darkening with blood underneath the skin. Dean shook his head in disbelief, frustrated beyond imagination.

Dean barely understood the doctor, who scrutinized radiographs of his legs as he lay patiently on a litter. Sam sat on a nearby chair in the consulting room, listening to the older man's explanation. They had already given Dean some great morphine, and he was wearing a happy smirk on his lips. A wonderful dizziness lingered inside of his body, and he felt as if someone had wrapped him up in cotton wool. He didn't like hospitals, so the tranquillizers were much appreciated to make him oblivious to his surroundings. Only when he met Sam's worried look, he sobered up a little bit and frowned, as the doctor began to roll the stretcher. The dreadful, too bright light of the ceiling lamps blinded Dean, and he was searching frantically for Sam, as the doctor continued to push him along the corridor. He was talking to him with a calm voice, but Dean couldn't decipher the meaning of his words. Men and women in green scrubs appeared to both his sides, and realisation set in. Suddenly, Sam was at his side and squeezed his hand.

"You'll be fine, they just need to fix your tendon", Sam assured him. Then he was gone, and Dean was being rolled into an operating room. He was about to panic, because there was nothing he hated more than operations and being narcotised, but some asshole already injected him with anaesthetics. He wanted to protest, but his eyes already closed, and then, there was only emotionless darkness.

…

When Dean woke up, it was morning, and he felt incredibly cold and sore. His body shivered thanks to the side effect of the narcotics. He was a little bit nauseous and a little out of it. He had to blink several times to make out Sam's sleeping figure in a chair next to him; apparently, he had the luxury of a single bedroom. He examined his body, and when he pushed the blanket aside, he could see his right calf had been put in a cast. _Great._ Annoyed, he rolled his eyes and let out a groan. Whatever that meant, it wasn't promising any good news. He was trying to brace himself for week-long obstacles, especially with this monstrosity of a plaster cast sticking to his calf. His spirits weren't exactly raised, when the doctor entered his room, his patient record in his hand. He greeted Dean friendly, and Dean tried to feign a half-hearted smile. Sam was oblivious to the intruder and kept snoring lightly, educing an honest smile from Dean unknowingly.

"How are you feeling, Mister Winchester?", the doctor asked sternly, re-reading Dean's record with a frown. Dean wondered why he knew his real name, and if Sam was to blame for this. Usually they used false names and fake insurance cards.

"Alright, I guess", he answered, too flabbergasted to think clearly. The man's pale, blue eyes rested on Dean thoughtfully, worry lines joined the creases on his elderly face. He sighed and read Dean's record once more.

"Well, I won't sugarcoat it - we often see such accidents happen when it comes to loggers. I don't know why you were cutting down a tree at night, but whatever... Your Achilles tendon had been torn apart by that tree, and we had to sew it together last night. You won't be able to put weight on that leg for roughly 4 months. We have to immobilise the leg for about six weeks, but you'll have to start the physical therapy within the next few days, so that we can diminish the danger of thrombosis. We'll keep you here for today, just to make sure you're okay – tomorrow you will be released and transferred to a nearby rehab-center for the physiotherapy sessions during the next six weeks. Do you have any questions?"

Dean was so taken aback, he didn't even know where to start. At first, he had wanted to laugh, when the doctor thought he was a lumberjack (what the hell had Sam told them?), but the longer the doctor had spoken, the more upset Dean had felt. Six weeks immobilised! Four months being handicapped, probably attached to one locality! He had never been that sorely afflicted due to an injury. How was he supposed to heal and hunt demons at the same time? As it was, he was easy meat for any supernatural being, hell, he couldn't even run with this damn leg. Resentment rattled through his whole body. He was so grieved, he almost wanted to punch something.

"Mister Winchester?", the doctor asked carefully, as the silence in the room lingered for too long. Dean met his eyes again and tried to smile, though tears of anger were welling in his eyes. He gritted his teeth and nodded, brushing the tears of frustration briskly away with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. No questions."

The doctor smiled at him compassionately.

"Breakfast is at seven, lunch at one, dinner at six. I know it must be difficult for a young man like you to be confined to bed for weeks, but the rehab-center has some nice activities during each day, should you feel bored, and if you want some company, I bet you'll get to know other patients in the common room quickly."

Dean nodded once more and thanked the doctor for his kindness. When he left, Dean was able to feel the full extent of his devastation. They should have put him in a mental house straight away, there was no way he would endure his stay in a rehab clinic for _six_ fucking weeks. Patience had never been one of his virtues, and he was already losing his mind.

**...**

"Dean, I'll be fine on my own!", Sam argued, once Dean had filled him in on his injury and the oncoming therapy program. Of course, Sam had suggested to proceed with the demon hunt _on his own_, as in _without Dean_, going against the grain for Dean naturally. There was no way he was letting his younger brother hunt all by himself. His whole life Dean had been looking out for him, and now that they were both grown-ups, they had gotten used to depending on each other. Sam would be too heedless. Something would happen to him, as soon as his awareness would go into hiatus, be it for just a second. He would die brutally and quickly on a lonesome road, or in a deserted barn, and Dean would never get wind of it. He hated that Sam could be so stubborn sometimes. He had had the same pig-headedness when he had left for Stanford University a few years ago.

"Sam, we're not having this conversation! You won't do the job alone, end of the story!", Dean yelled furiously, ignoring the bitchface Sam made. "Moreover, chances are that some demons will drop in for a visit. I mean, look at me, I'm a sitting duck. We have brighter conditions meeting a demon here than anywhere else."

For a while, both of them stilled and tried to calm themselves. During the years they had learnt it was sometimes necessary to shut up for a few minutes. Their eyes met, and Sam gave Dean a pensive look.

"What if no demon turns up? We could be wasting months here, Dean, to no avail. I know you're an overprotective son of a bitch, but you've got to trust in me. I can fend for myself; I'm not a kid anymore. You can call me anytime and I will let you know what I'm up to. And, no worries, before I leave I will secure the building of that rehab clinic, so that no demon can enter it. Bobby taught me the symbols."

No need to say that Dean was very unwilling to agree to Sam's suggestion.

"How the hell do you want to secure a frigging clinic? You can't paint weird symbols on the whole thing."

"Translucent colour, jerk!", Sam replied and stuck out his tongue, making Dean smile a tiny bit.

"You're such a smart ass, Sammy", Dean grinned and winced, when Sam shoved his shoulder playfully. It was still impossible to move a lot; Dean hadn't even noticed before how often his leg was involved in so many motions of his body.

"So, it's a done deal? You're letting me go out into the big, wide world?", Sam asked with a grin stuck all over his mouth. Dean scrutinized him for a few seconds, with, what he hoped, was an intimidating glare. He would never be able to withstand Sam's puppy dog eyes. He rolled his eyes and groaned annoyed.

"You will call every day, you hear me? Every fucking day. And if you get one damn scratch into the car, I'll behead you. Is that clear?"

Sam grinned broadly and nodded in agreement with Dean.

Sam had the decency to stay in Dean's hospital room for the day, though Dean suspected it was just because it gave Sam some pleasure to see Dean getting his syringes. Dean was almost too distracted by the busty nurse injecting him his medicine to glare at Sam's grinning face. She had dark hair, tanned skin, and a sporty figure. If all nurses in this hospital looked like this, he would have no difficulties to stay here for the rest of the day. However, he wasn't that fond of her anymore, when she ran the two syringes into his forearm indelicately.

"Ouch!", he complained, meeting her wicked smirk with a pout. She patted his arm soothingly.

"One for thrombosis prevention, and one antiphlogistic agent. It will help allaying the inflammation of your leg and keep your blood vessels widened. You better get used to it, Mister Winchester: May very well be that you'll get injections more often these days", she explained as sweet as sugar. Dean decided he didn't like her, and as she left the room with a wink, he crossed his arms over his chest and sulked.

"May very well be, Mister Winchester", he mimicked her in a high-pitched voice, making Sam laugh.

"Hey, Sasquatch. How come they have my real name? What were you thinking?", Dean asked sternly, not too enthusiastic about seeing Sam laugh so happily when he was glued to a bed for _weeks_. Sam sobered up and beheld Dean with an exhausted expression in his eyes.

"I don't know, Dean. I just thought it might be strenuous to lie about your _name _for weeks, I mean, what should I've told them? That your name is Jimmy Page? One day or other they would've realized the cover. So I just gave them your real name. Don't worry about the insurance, I'll pay for the rehab and send you money whenever you need it. Thanks to you my skills regarding pool have improved."

There it was again, the cheeky smirk of his younger brother, and Dean couldn't help but smile too.

"Yeah, I made sure of that. You sucked."

They killed the time of the remaining day with playing cards and bad television, intermingled with conversations about Sam's plans for his oncoming solo-hunt. Dean couldn't help but give Sam unnecessary lectures about what to keep in mind, how to check the tire pressure of the Impala, and so on and on, until Sam smacked his head and told him to shut up. Though it was only late afternoon, Dean felt tired at some point, and his calf started to throb again with indistinct pain. He couldn't even argue, when he noticed his eyes became heavy and that he started falling asleep, and Sam told him he'd be back tomorrow morning.

Some nurse woke Dean for dinner rudely, and as he sat up in bed, he realized Sam was gone. He grimaced at the hospital grub, some healthy sandwiches with cut vegetables – Sam would've rejoiced, but Dean nibbled listlessly at some carrots. Damn it, he was so hungry, he had no choice but to eat what was served. Sadly, he dreamt of cheeseburgers and fries, and, oh God, _pie._ He was almost certain he had to bid adieu to his favourite foods for a good while now.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for follows / favourites! I'm glad you're giving this story a try x3 Please review though; I need some thoughts on this at the moment…! A million thanks again to Angelphoenixwings14 for beta-reading this chapter as well! I bet I gave her a hard time with some clumsy sentences and comma faults –laughs embarrassed- she did a great job again and helped me improving some lines x) Again, if you find further mistakes, please let me know.

Now, debut entrance – Castiel!

**Chapter 2**

The transfer to the rehab clinic didn't take long, but Dean was already unnerved, especially by the jumpy driving style of the PTA. This morning had been horrible so far – first of all, it had been quite impossible to shower decently. A nurse had wrapped his plaster cast in some plastic bag, so that it wouldn't get wet, and he had declined her offer to help him shower (lecherous woman, he thought grimly). Secondly, all he had received for breakfast was a lousy, floury apple and a glass of milk, and he feared he was already so enriched with vitamins, his body would mutate. Sam followed with the Impala, and Dean could see his smirk in the driving mirror. It didn't exactly lift his spirits.

Once they stopped and got outside, Dean was highly embarrassed because they made him sit down in a wheelchair, and rolled him towards the entrance. The place looked actually rather charming – there were trimmed green areas, flowerbeds, and trees all around the building. The clinic in itself looked welcoming and neat, with its white walls, blue window frames and wooden shutters (more like a huge country home with two stories). The driver of the PTA checked Dean in, he and Sam watched how he handed the receptionist some documents. When he was gone, she smiled at Dean and walked toward them. She shook both their hands with a firm squeeze and introduced herself as Karen. She had a curly redhead and bright blue eyes, and her toothy smile was contagious. Dean grinned inwardly when he saw how Sam eyed her attentively.

She led them to Dean's room,thankfully another single bedroom**, **though laughably tiny), and Sam rolled Dean's wheelchair in. He helped Dean out of the wheelchair and made him sit down on the bed (_comfortable_, Dean's brain registered, quite surprised), asshe rambled on. It seemed, she was talking more to Sam than to Dean, but he didn't mind. From what he overheard, he understood the next few weeks would become strenuous and disgustingly healthy. The meal times were revoltingly early – breakfast at seven, lunch at one, dinner at six, and he scoffed when he heard her say that.

"What, and bedtime is at eleven?", he joked, and she smiled calmly at him.

"Ten, actually. No lights or electronics after that. Believe me, the daily routine is physically demanding, most likely you fall asleep long before ten."

Dean grumbled and ignored Sam's mischievous smile.

"The common room is two corridors away from here. You'll have to go to the canteen for the meal times. Oh, and before I forget it", she turned around and seized something, and Dean's face fell when she gave him the items.

"No wheelchairs for you, Mister Winchester. You will use these crutches instead;it's better for your muscle tissue. You'll have physiotherapy twice a day, before noon and in the late afternoon. Your therapist will come around as soon as he can. If you need anything, there's a red button next to your bed, and you can push it and someone will drop in. You can also call me, my phone extension is 001. For a call outside you have to dial a zero at first. And that's all, if you don't have further questions", she smiled sweetly, turning towards Sam.

After a few lengthy moments of awkward silence, Sam seemed to awaken out of his daydream, and Dean answered that he had no more questions. Karen left (of course with a wink at Sam). He disregarded Dean's knowing look and rubbed his neck shyly.

"I'll get your stuff and prepare the clinic with the symbols. I guess it's best to climb on the roof", Sam mumbled and Dean dismissed him with an approving nod. He laid down for a while, and tried to get used to the bed and the room he would mostly be in for the upcoming weeks. Not even five minutes had passed when someone knocked on his opened door. He looked up, one hand underneath his head, to see a man about his age standing in the door. He wore a light blue uniform, which underlined the deep blue colour of his eyes and flattered his slightly tanned, rosy skin. He had dark hair, a slim figure, and the most tantalizing smile Dean had seen in a long while.

"Dean Winchester?", he asked as he approached Dean slowly, and Dean's jaw dropped slightly once he heard that dark voice. The sound of the stranger's voice caused a turbulent surge of heat inside his stomach and made him all tingly. He nodded, and the man reached out his hand, and Dean shook it, responding to the firm grip equally.

"I'm Castiel Novak, your physiotherapist." There was something about the way those plump pink lips moved that fascinated Dean, and made it hard to concentrate on the man's words. The light stubble on his jaw and cheeks, or his prominent cheekbones weren't helping either. Castiel... what a weird name, Dean thought, as he observed the depth of this wonderful blue in his therapist's eyes. Obviously, he'd been staring too long, because Castiel harrumphed and averted his eyes, looking at Dean's patient record suddenly highly focused.

"Have you had breakfast?", he asked Dean, still not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, if you want to label it as that. I wouldn't call an apple a breakfast. I'd rather have scrambled eggs with bacon", Dean admitted with a shrug and a cheeky smile. His smile died quickly on his lips, when Castiel finally looked up and regarded him with a mellow, yet somewhat stern expression in his eyes.

"Sorry, there won't be a lot of carbs or cholesterol for you within these walls. The clinic has a specially developed nutrition program, implying lots of vegetables and fruits", Castiel explained, and he laughed softly when Dean acted as if he had to puke and rolled his eyes.

"I know", he soothed. "But you have to heal and fattening food won't help your leg. Let me have a look...", Castiel mumbled and pushed Dean's pants leg gently up, so that he could see the flesh above the cast.

"How about you buy me a drink first?", Dean joked under his breath, trying to pay no heed to those slender fingers touching him, but Castiel had heard him and met his eyes with a kind smile.

"I never needed that to get into someone's pants", he retorted dryly, making Dean dumbstruck in doing so. Castiel bent his head again, and Dean mused how soft those dark strands of hair would feel underneath his fingertips. He could inhale the soapy, fresh smell coming from Castiel's body, and it stirred something twitching inside his guts. It was weird, that Castiel was so near; usually, Dean didn't let strangers that close (except for one night stands, of course). He was painfully aware of the thinness of his clothes, and how he could feel both their body heats collide. The therapist touched his flesh above the plaster cast carefully. He gave the muscles and the skin light squeezes, just underneath Dean's knee, and Dean winced and laughed in embarrassment.

"Hey, I'm ticklish", he growled, hearing Castiel smile and exhale a breathy laugh.

"I'm sorry", he said quietly, before he continued palpating Dean's calf and upper leg. When he was done, he pulled Dean's pants leg down cautiously, and with so much gentleness that Dean felt his heart melt warmly. Castiel met his eyes again, wearing a frown.

"The inflammation is on the decline, which is good, but I think we'll have to administer you some injections to support your system. If I'm right, we'll be able to start working on your calf tomorrow. Until then, I suggest we start with the rest of the whole-body training."

Dean sat up, about to protest loudly.

"Wait a second, what whole-body training? My calf is injured, the rest of my body is just fine", he complained, making Castiel smile again. He was getting used to the sight, and he thought he looked rather lovely when he smiled.

"Dean, you'll be in this clinic for six weeks. Do you really think we'll let you lie in bed the whole time? You'll suffer muscle loss within the next few days because you'll be mostly laid up, and we will try to stop that with some stamina training _and _toning exercises. Also, it will help your calf if the rest of your body is in a good state. There will be some exercises, which will demand the muscles of your stomach, back, butt, hell, even your shoulders and arms. So it will be easier for you if we train your whole body", Castiel explained calmly, still wearing the hunch of a smile on his soft, pink mouth.

Though Castiel seemed like an affable person, Dean was on the edge of telling him to go fuck himself, because there was no way that _Dean Winchester_ would eat healthy 24/7 _and _act like an exercise-addict at the same time. Luckily, Sam entered the room in this moment, saving Dean from losing his dignity. Castiel turned halfway around and smiled at Sam.

"This is my brother Sam. Sam, this is Castiel, my physiotherapist", Dean disclosed and watched how the two shook hands. Sam placed two heavy travelling bags on the ground, huffing and puffing slightly due to their weight – they included all of Dean's scarce belongings, mostly his clothes, some tattered books he loved, an mp3-player and some of his weapons. Little did Dean know that Sam had brought his favourite weapons too, but Sam was certain Dean didn't and couldn't even sleep without a knife or a gun at hand.

"Uhm, we were just about to start the daily workout", Castiel said, exchanging looks with Sam and Dean.

"Is now a bad time? We could postpone this, if you need some time", he suggested, and Dean had to smile when he heard Castiel's kind proposal. He wasn't going to be a difficult drama queen from his first day on, so he stopped his therapist with a wave of his hand.

"Nah, Sam wanted to go out into the big, wide world anyhow, didn't you?", he smirked.

"Yeah, true. I'll store your clothes away and then I'll be on my way."

"I don't want to disturb you; I'll have to get those syringes I talked about anyway. I'll be back in a minute. It was nice to meet you, Sam", Castiel said politely and shook Sam's gigantic hand once more, then he was gone. Dean tried to not gaze after those firm legs and the cute, round butt, but Sam had caught his stare and grinned amusedly at him, particularly as Dean felt his cheeks blush.

"So, your therapist, huh?", Sam asked slyly, starting to unpack Dean's bags and shoving his clothes into the head-high closet behind the door.

"You shut your cakehole", Dean replied with a grin he couldn't suppress, fighting against another surge of blood rushing through his cheeks. Alright, he had to agree that this Castiel guy was really handsome, and the mere thought of spending the next few weeks in his nearness turned Dean's whole body into jelly and warmed him thoroughly – but that didn't imply he had to talk with Sam about it. Sam continued working in silence, and once the bags were almost empty, he placed them underneath Dean's bed.

"I brought you your favourite guns and knives. There's some holy water in there, some salt, a spray can, and silver bullets. Hope that's sufficient", Sam said quietly, as he leant down to Dean. Dean patted his shoulder and thanked him.

"You call every night, alright?", Dean questioned, staring unyieldingly into his brother's eyes – it was difficult for him to let him go, all on his own. He knew worry would haunt him every day, but he had to act like an adult and accept Sam as an adult too at some point. Sam smiled gently at him, confirming Dean's demand with a choked "Of course, you jerk." They weren't going to see each other for quite a while, so they hugged fiercely, holding on to one another for a moment. After John had died, they had understood how easily they could be next, so they made more of an effort to show the other how appreciated he was. Once they were killed it would be too late for such confessions, suppressed because of their shyness and aversion to honesty about their feelings.

"You look out for yourself, you hear me?", Dean mumbled and squeezed his younger brother once more. Sam finally let go of him and ruffled Dean's hair, making him grumble and narrow his eyes dangerously.

"Yeah, you too. See you, Dean...", Sam said softly, and with a last smile, he turned around and walked past Castiel, who stood there, leaning against the doorframe with a pensive look on his face. He approached Dean silently, the syringes in his hand, and he sat down beside Dean on his bed. Dean let him take his forearm; Castiel placed it on his lap and extended it. He shook his head in disbelief when he saw the black and blue mark on Dean's crook of the arm, the remnant of his last injections.

"Well, that nurse was brutal, am I right?", he said with a smile and looked up into Dean's eyes. Dean smiled too and observed how Castiel opened the caps of the syringes.

"You have no idea", he joked. Mesmerized Dean saw how Castiel held his arm still with one hand, and how he gave him the injection skillfully so it hurt only slightly. His grip was firm but tender at the same time, and it made Dean all giddy inside. He felt light-headed, as if time was standing still. Somehow, he was calm and pleasantly excited in Castiel's nearness, for he emanated a splendid vibe. Castiel placed the first syringe away and took the second, repeating the process with the same calmness and certainty.

"You're brother's leaving for a longer period?", he asked friendly, obviously having seen their embrace. Dean felt a little awkward about the question, but he found he couldn't really resist talking to Castiel. He already loved the sound of his voice; it was addictive.

"Yeah, I don't think he'll be around while I'm here. He still has to take care of our business", he replied.

"The patient record said you're loggers?", Castiel asked and uplifted his head to smirk at Dean. Dean returned the smirk mischievously and rubbed his neck with the hand that wasn't demanded.

"Or something like that... or not. Better not talk about it, or I might have to kill you", Dean grinned feisty.

Castiel chuckled and got up, letting go of Dean's arm in the process. He grabbed the crutches and held them out for Dean, moving his head with an implication for him to get up. Dean groaned and sat up clumsily and accepted the crutches. He was glad Castiel didn't ask further questions about his profession, but somehow he would have rather kept talking with him about this and that than starting the dreaded workout.

"Alright, we'll start with the crutches. You'll have to get used to walking with them. I assume your arms and shoulders will be sore within the next days, because the movement will be new to your body. Can you get up on your own?"

Dean didn't feel comfortable with this at all, and he hated to make a fool out of himself, but he tried to put some weight on the crutches nonetheless, while he struggled to get up safely too. He sighed exasperated, and gave it another attempt. It didn't work again, and he stopped, shaking his head disappointedly. Great, now he couldn't even stand up without help.

"Don't worry, we'll work on that", Castiel assured him. Gently he took the crutches out of Dean's hand and placed them aside, and as his fingers brushed against Dean's, it caused an electric feeling bouncing through Dean. Their eyes met when Castiel seized Dean's left hand with his left one, their fingers intertwined. It felt far too intimate for a simple touch, and Dean couldn't help but blush again.

"Place your healthy foot on the ground. I'll pull you up", Castiel instructed, and Dean nodded. Within a second, he perceived the strong pull of Castiel's arm, far stronger than he would have thought, and he stood on one wobbly leg, his other one useless. Castiel gave him the crutches back and together they adjusted their height to Dean's body. Dean was a little bit confused, when Castiel placed his hands on Dean's shoulders and pushed him down on the bed again.

"Now, we'll try this again. You'll be grateful not to have to make a call every time you need to use the bathroom, and our staff will stone me and accuse me I didn't teach you anything whenever they have to come and help you get up. Once more, place your healthy leg on the ground, then use the left crutch and put as much pressure on it as you can. Don't worry, the crutch will survive this. Make sure it won't slip away, then you pull yourself up with your left side."

It was easier said than done, and Dean's upper arm was trembling with exhaustion – he managed to stand up somewhat shakily, and Castiel had to hold his right arm firmly to give him support. His fingers dug into Dean's biceps tightly, and it made Dean's mouth dry. The way he gripped him, so blatantly and resolutely... They practiced the same exercise over and over again, until Dean was able to get up on his own, and they both smiled genuinely at each other when they realized they had accomplished the first goal. The happy glint in Castiel's deep blue eyes set something alight in Dean's heart, and he felt his inhibitions shrink easily the longer he was around the therapist. Castiel made him walk towards the staircase outside Dean's room – he patiently walked next to him along the floor, keeping a close watch on his every tentative move with the crutches. Sometimes his hand fled to the small of Dean's back, supporting him wordlessly, and Dean appreciated the gesture.

When they entered the hallway, Dean's mood became gloomy as he regarded the stairs as if they were monsters, just waiting to rip him to shreds. He sighed tiredly. His limbs already ached thanks to the damn crutches, and now _stairs_?

"The principle is easy. Upstairs – first healthy leg, then crutches, then injured leg. Downstairs – crutches, healthy leg, injured leg. Got it? It will feel natural the longer you do it", Castiel fluted, patting Dean's shoulder encouragingly. Dean clenched his teeth and supported his weight on the crutches. He turned his head and gave Castiel a side-glance. There was a strange, emboldening shimmer in those deep, blue wells, which made Dean grim and eager. He knew it would be quite strenuous and exhausting, but he wanted to give it a try. The way Castiel looked at him made him want to achieve this, despite the struggle. So he followed Castiel's instruction and started climbing the first step carefully. Castiel wasn't touching him, but Dean could feel the heat of his palm close to his back, always there should he fall or stumble. It was quite reassuring, and soon Dean felt more relaxed.

They walked up and down the stairs countless times, always in the same, slow pace, and Dean was soaked through with perspiration when they stopped after eternities. His arms were trembling and aching, and he was breathing heavily – howsoever, he felt himself smiling brightly when he looked into Castiel's face and saw the proud smile on those lovely, pink lips. Castiel touched his shoulder and looked him deeply in the eyes, making Dean light-headed and absolutely flabbergasted.

"Well done. I think that's enough for the nonce. I'll accompany you to your room, then I'll have to look after my other patients. Post-lunch we'll proceed with the workout", Castiel said gently. Partly Dean was glad to hear Castiel's compliment – on the other hand, he was shattered to hear he wasn't done for the day yet. One thing was certain - he would have sore muscles for _days_.

**TBC**

Thoughts? Opinions? Let me know what you think! Oh, btw, I think I'll update once or twice a week…! As always, your feedback is appreciated x3


	3. Chapter 3

Hi there x3 so, thanks again for the new followers and the reviews! To answer a question, yeah, I've decided that Dean's and Castiel's sexuality is already well-founded in this story, I wanted to give them that option... I mean, they're 26 or 27 in this, I wanted to allow them to be certain about their sexual orientation at that age for once hahah x3 (there are so many fics out there with the two of them struggling with the topic, I didn't find it necessary for me to do the same). So, here's the next chapter – gotta warn you, it's not beta-read this time (but I proofread it a few times).

**Chapter 3**

The silence on the way back to Dean's room was deafening and kind of tense, solely interrupted with Dean's grunts and pants. It was pretty wearing to walk on his crutches, he still had to take care of his steps; Castiel walked slowly beside him, watching his every move narrowly.

"You know, you're doing really great for your first day", he praised when they entered Dean's room and Dean settled himself on his bed with an exhausted sigh, putting the crutches aside. Castiel wrote something on Dean's patient record, probably his estimation of Dean's progress.

"Yeah, well, I want to get out as quickly as I can", Dean confessed, and Castiel's eyes darted briefly at him. He clenched Dean's record underneath his arm and beheld him with a thoughtful, long look, which made Dean all antsy inside. Those damn blue eyes, it felt like Castiel was capable of looking straight into Dean's soul, seeing his weaknesses and strengths effortlessly. Usually Dean didn't like it when people stared at him like that, but with Castiel, it was different. He liked being looked at in this way, and there was nothing he wanted to hide from him. It felt natural to reveal himself to him, to not try maintaining a veil of privacy. It was impossible to avert his gaze from his therapist.

"That's commendable, Dean, but I think you don't comprehend what has happened to your body. The hospital had to stitch your sinew back together, it feels like a _new_ one to your leg. It's not used to work and to endure the weight of your body, let alone stretch or bend or twist. You're going to have to relearn all these movements, and it will take weeks, despite your ambitious efforts. If it gives you comfort, I will push you, but I will also make sure you won't overexert yourself", Castiel explained with soft, considered words, his voice becoming even darker the quieter he spoke, and it caused goosebumps appearing on Dean's skin. Castiel's words gulped down the hope Dean had been feeling and made him aware of the vehemence of his body's state. Castiel smiled sympathetically at him, a sad expression dwelling in his gorgeous, blue eyes.

"If you want to shower, there are airtight bags in the bathroom for your cast and some medical tape. Don't worry, the next session this afternoon won't be that arduous, we'll mostly focus on stretching exercises. I'll pick you up close to 5 o'clock."

Castiel blinked at him slowly, a friendly gesture, which made Dean calm and restless simultaneously. He watched in awe how Castiel disappeared and closed the door behind him, leaving Dean all to himself, gazing after him absentmindedly.

Dean passed the time of the residual forenoon with showering, listening to music and reading one of his favourite books languidly. He already ached for his car, he missed driving her. Hell, he even longed for stupid conversations or pranks with Sam; he had gotten so used to his company, it was weird to be alone. He dreaded lunchtime, because he was supposed to hobble to the cafeteria with those awful crutches. What a great concept, he thought bitterly to himself. Some idiot must have thought it was easier for the patients to get to know one another if they met each time food was being served. Dean had no issues with making friends or meeting somebody; thanks to his life on the road, it felt like shooting fish in a barrel. Their various jobs had made them get to know all kinds of people. However, Dean found it difficult to trust others and open up to them thoughtlessly. Also, he didn't feel the need or desire to make friends while he was staying here. It had been sufficient to meet Castiel.

Dean couldn't exactly pinpoint why he was interested in him or what was so alluring about him. His looks were a great plus, out of the question, but it was also something else Dean was intrigued with. Maybe it was the carelessness with which he dealt with Dean, how he wasn't impressed with his cheeky comments or his uncertainties about his physical capabilities. At the end of their workout, Dean had achieved more than he would have ever expected possible, and to receive Castiel's acknowledging glance had felt incredible, _glorious_. Dean wanted to see him look at him like this again – he had seemed inhumanely beautiful to Dean, how his big blue eyes had lingered on him for just a second too long...

His head was still swimming with all these thoughts, when he made his way to the cafeteria a few hours later. He sat down on a table, which provided place for four, then he let his eyes wander through the spacious hall. There were mostly elderly patients in here, some of them were not only physically but also mentally handicapped, making Dean humble and gracious that he wasn't as damaged as them. He realized every person received the same dish, which was brought to each table by the staff. He was relieved, because he had pondered about the impossible ways of carrying a tray and trying to walk with one injured leg for far too long, wracking his brain in doing so. He was startled out of his musings when two persons took their seats next and opposite to him.

Immediately he had to grin when he saw a man, by all appearances his age, grin at him too. The dude had a frigging _mullet. _The other guy to his right side smiled shyly at him; he was probably a little bit younger than Dean. His lengthy hair was dirty blonde and he had a phenomenal long nose. If the guy with the freaky haircut was the personification of rock 'n' roll, the other seemed like the epitome of country music.

"Thank God, finally a patient under hundred years!", the mullet-head sighed and reached out his hand to Dean. "I'm Ash, this scrawny weirdo beside you is Garth. We bring the average age down here dramatically."

Dean scoffed and shook both their hands. Apparently, it was easier making friends than he would have thought. They fraternized with each other, especially when Ash complained about the healthy food program. Dean couldn't have agreed more, as he stuffed his face with stewed garden vegetables and wild rice. He learned Garth was a farmer, who had been clumsy enough to let a cow stomp on his foot, breaking several bones. Dean almost choked on his food with laughter, as Garth explained to him, how he had tried to shove the cow away, though he had been in severe pain. Ash boasted with the rupture of his quadriceps (a tendon in his upper leg, Dean was told) and his broken arm. Ash was a motorcycle rider (though he worked mostly for an IT company), who loved to compete in dangerous contests – thanks to a dire fall, he had obtained his injuries (not the first time he was here, he explained).

Dean stuck to his story about being a logger, it was easier to tell a simple lie than to talk about demons and other supernatural spirits. They wouldn't have believed him anyways. He got to know the rehab clinic was as appealing as he had thought in the first place. The common room contained frigging _pool tables _and foosball tables, and Dean understood he would act like the childish bastard he was and gamble with those two guys from now on. When he asked them how they killed their time here, they added, there was also a swimming pool in the basement; apart from that, one could watch TV every night or try to take a walk in the bordering park. The clinic also offered courses on various topics, such as painting or sewing, making Dean laugh when he heard them say that. He would have to be very, very desperate to participate in a sewing course.

"I admit, it sounds kind of boring, but once you get used to it, you will enjoy it here. We all could take a time out like this more often, not only when we're injured. It's quite relaxing, actually", Garth assured Dean. After lunch, Ash and Garth abducted Dean to the common room. Dean would have laughed had he seen himself and the other two, how they stumbled through the long corridors, all of them handicapped and wrapped up in bandages and plaster casts. They must have looked ridiculous. During the afternoon they played poker and they got to know each other better; Dean lost several times thanks to Ash's stunning skills – Garth was a hopeless case, he lost all the time. Dean didn't even notice how swiftly the time was passing, until his therapist appeared in the common room, giving him a friendly smile. Apparently it was time for his second workout session. Dean didn't look forward to straining his body, though a glimmer of joy coursed through him at the prospect of spending time with Castiel.

"Guys, I've gotta go. Physiotherapy and so on...", Dean said and got up clumsily, resting his weight on his crutches. Ash and Garth nodded and waved at him, then Dean made his way towards Castiel, who stood patiently in the doorway and smiled at him tenderly. Wordlessly they strolled next to each other, down the corridor. It felt comfortable to be in Castiel's nearness again, it soothed the foundations of Dean's soul without much ado. He tried to not over-analyse his emotions and to just enjoy the company of his therapist, as they walked slowly, step by step.

"I see you've made acquaintances?", Castiel asked with a sideglance and an amicable smile, which Dean returned with an equivalent one.

"Yeah, I guess. They seem nice", he responded, a little bit lost in thought. Why did it feel like he knew Castiel better than Ash and Garth, though he had spent more time with them during this day? He sensed he wanted to learn everything about Castiel too, though far more detailed, far more intimate, and that placed a frown on Dean's forehead.

"I'm happy for you. It can be quite lonely in here without friends", Castiel contemplated loudly. Dean wondered if there was more to Castiel's statement, if it implied he felt lonely sometimes – he was about to ask him when Castiel stopped in front of an opened door, tilting his head in a welcoming gesture.

"This is my office, room 43. It'd be great if you could come here every day at 5, so I won't have to search for you throughout the whole clinic", he declared and entered the room. Dean followed his lead and Castiel shut the door behind him. He saw the room was stuffed with medicine balls, rubber mats, weights and other gym equipment. It was fairly spacious, the ground was covered with countless roll mats. Dean couldn't help but pay attention to the way Castiel's muscles flexed underneath his baby blue clothes, as he bent forward and adjusted one of the mats. He turned around to Dean.

"Lay down. We'll do some warm-up." Dean had to try real hard to stifle a laugh or a sexual innuendo. So he complied to Castiel's instruction and lay down on his back, placing his crutches next to him. Castiel knelt down to his side and examined his body thoroughly, causing sparks of heat inside Dean's stomach. A river of warmth spread in his spine, and if he wasn't utterly mistaken, it was a feeling akin to lust – he couldn't suppress the sensation the longer he observed Castiel's eyes regarding him so attentively. Then Castiel touched his shoulders and pressed against them with his nimble fingers, squeezing Dean's taut muscles.

"You whole body seems uptight. I sense you probably drive a lot, am I right? Your shoulders are completely stiff, we'll have to work on that", Castiel mumbled musingly, making Dean cringe. Was it so easy to read him?

"Right guess... I, uh, I travelled by car all my life, it kind of goes with my job", he confessed, meeting Castiel's suddenly intense look. He couldn't withstand those lavender-blue eyes, and his throat constricted with an ache he didn't understand, the longer Castiel regarded him mercilessly.

"I didn't know loggers had to travel that much", he said dryly, forgoing Dean's attempt to explain himself. Instead, he palpated Dean's ribs, wearing a displeased mien. "You're ribs are rigid as well", he murmured, then he continued testing Dean's body blatantly. He seized his hips forcefully, making Dean yelp with a sudden pain. Castiel pursed his lips and looked up into Dean's eyes.

"We have to adjust your hip joint, it's a little bit dislocated. Turn on your left side and bend your right leg."

Dean did as he was told, not sure he liked Castiel's snarky comment. He knew he didn't have to explain himself or his life to Castiel, but it seemed stupid to put on an act, if he was going to spend every day with him. Surely, they could not talk to one another all the time, however, that wasn't something Dean _wanted._ He wanted to converse with Castiel, he wanted him to know him and to get to know him too. It was an urge thriving inside of him, and to perceive Castiel's somewhat cold behaviour unsettled him.

"Alright, I'm not a logger", he said in the moment Castiel's fingers wandered underneath his shirt, right above his ass. "Take a deep breath", Castiel ordered unperturbed, confusing Dean even more, but he inhaled deeply nonetheless. Castiel's thumb and forefinger pressed against a spot and Dean felt something shift, but in a good way. Castiel touched Dean's upper thigh tentatively and rolled Dean around on his back, looking deeply into his eyes once more.

"You don't need to justify yourself, Dean. I'm sorry, I won't comment on it again", Castiel stated, his voice sounding absolutely circumspectly, then he averted his gaze; to Dean, it resembled regret and shame. Flabbergasted he watched Castiel lay down on a mat beside him, mirroring his position.

"Copy my movements as best as you can", the dark-haired man said, then he placed his arms behind his head , his fingers intertwined, and he moved his stretched arms from the left to the right side. Dean could hear the joints in his neck creak; he felt a bit awkward as he imitated Castiel's exercise, but soon he perceived his shoulders and neck were cracking too. Castiel brought one leg up to his chest, embracing his knee and pulling it closer – Dean had a hard time doing the same, the plaster cast produced some extra weight he wasn't used to. By the time they were arching their backs and uplifting their hips, Dean risked a sideglance at Castiel's concentrated face.

"I shouldn't have lied to you about my job. It's just, I can't really tell you what I'm doing."

Castiel turned his head and gave Dean an honest, sweet smile. "Then don't", he stated simply, making Dean smirk. There was something in the air, the attraction between them was almost palpable. Dean felt a strange weightlessness inside his chest, smiling to himself at the thought of Castiel's lovely smile. The feeling continued during the following three-quarters of an hour, though they didn't speak about themselves. They were doing sit-ups, lifted weights with their arms and strengthened the muscles of their backs as they lay on their stomachs. Once more, Dean felt exhausted beyond imagination. His whole body burnt and trembled, he was wonderfully spent and the endorphins, developed through their work-out, made Dean light-headed and grin happily. They were both sweaty, and Dean was marveling at the beads of sweat clinging to Castiel's forehead, or how dark his strands of hair had become due to the perspiration.

"Turn around, I'll relax those muscles on your back and shoulder", Castiel requested, sounding breathless and absolutely sexy with his dark voice. He obviously didn't know what he was doing to Dean with the husky rasp of his words. Dean complied to Castiel's instruction and laid down on his stomach, anticipating his slender fingers on his sweaty, clothed back. And suddenly, there were ten digits pressing into the flesh of his shoulders, starting to massage them with slow, circular movements, and Dean was plainly _loosing it. _He mewled appreciatively, when Castiel applied enough pressure to unravel the knots in his torso, that had been there as long as he could remember. God, he really knew what he was doing. A warm surge washed through Dean's stomach, and buoyancy blossomed within him when Castiel's powerful hands wandered down and grasped his ribs, massaging his flesh silently. Though he knew Castiel was obviously just doing his job, it felt much more intimate to let him touch him. Hell, it almost felt like a great foreplay, and Dean had to try really desperately not to grow hard in his pants.

The strong fingers dared to travel down to his hips and squeezed the flesh at both sides simultaneously. Dean couldn't help it when his pelvis pushed slightly upwards, towards Castiel's knowing hands. He let his forehead fall down on the mat, automatically his mouth opened sensually, as he took pleasure in Castiel's touches. His own breaths sounded thick to him, filled with lust. He just couldn't help it. Castiel's fingers crawled to his spine and his ribcage, to safer territory; Dean could hear his bones crack, felt, how his muscles warmed up. By the time Castiel was done, Dean was a slackened, boneless puddle of warmth and ease, he couldn't wipe away the satisfied smile on his lips. Damn, Castiel was going to be the death of him. He was glad he had managed to make his growing erection disappear again before he turned around and sat up, looking up into Castiel's face. He was still kneeling in front of him, beholding him with a strange, intense fire burning in his stunning blue eyes. Dean wasn't sure whether his cheeks were reddened due to their workout, or because there was the slightest hope he was appealing to Castiel too. The mere thought made his heart leap into his throat, and he gulped strainedly. If he wasn't mistaken, he was fairly certain he could spot the littlest smile tugging at Castiel's lips too – his blue eyes contained a sweet, soft expression.

His therapist scrambled and got to his feet. He reached out a helping hand for Dean and pulled him up with the same effortless and gracefulness Dean still lacked of. He felt a little bit empty and gloomy when Castiel's fingers let go of his hand, he instantly missed their warmth; they were standing so close in front of each other, he could feel Castiel's breath touching his chin hotly, and they regarded each other for a second too long. Dean was certain, he would never get over the way those eyes looked like, so beautiful, so gorgeous, the irises showing a colour he had never seen before. Furthermore, Castiel had a mouth to die for, plump, slightly chapped lips, and seemingly so pliant and soft it would make your knees turn into jelly. A smile twitched at them, and Dean couldn't stop smiling either. Though the atmosphere had been somewhat tense an hour ago, it felt now so damn relaxing to be in Castiel's company, Dean never wanted it to end. Eventually Castiel got a hold of himself, because he said "I'll see you tomorrow, I will drop in after you've had breakfast", and Dean couldn't even stop his shoulders slumping down to some degree. Tomorrow had to be sufficient. He nodded and accepted the crutches Castiel handed him.

"Will you be alright?", Castiel asked, as he watched Dean walking towards the door with uncertain steps. Castiel had been right, his arms already hurt due to the unknown movements. He stopped and turned around, giving Castiel an amused smirk.

"Of course. See you tomorrow, Cas", he said, unaware that he had subconsciously given him a nickname.

"Yeah, see you, Dean", Castiel replied, his face fell, and the smile he gave Dean seemed melancholic and bitter-sweet to him. The look of his deep blue eyes had changed to a hesitant, affected glance, which baffled Dean extremely. Despite that, he turned around again and walked to his room – he didn't want to ruin the tender vibe, which had thrived between them in the end, with inconsiderate, meaningless words.

**TBC**

Sooo, what do you think? Thoughts, suggestions? Let me know! x)


	4. Chapter 4

Hi my lovely readers! So, did you survive the first episode of season 9? I'm excited and worried at the same time x3 I assure you, within this story there will be –no- season 9 spoilers, promise! Thank you for your interest so far! I see this story gained some followers, hey you silent people, let me know what you think please x3? Reviews are love and I love love hehe x3 Kudos once more to the lovely Angelphoenixwings14, who beta-read this chapter and improved some of my sentences (I've grown very fond of her feedback, her suggestions always amaze me because they're so valuable and useful)! Go ahead and give her some love, she has a Destiel AU story of her own now and it's daaamn fascinating (Second Chances). Now, back to our hurt Dean and therapist Castiel…

**Chapter 4**

Dean decided he was already hooked on the strong coffee they served here for breakfast. He was also in dire need of it, with regard to the gross early hour of the day – his eyes darted a look at the round, big wall clock in the canteen, showing it was ten past seven in the morning. He was deadly tired, though he had slept like a log. The bed was indeed comfortable, and it had provided him with as much sleep as he hadn't received in years. He had fallen asleep after he had a brief talk with Sam on the phone, making sure he was okay and safe. The nurse had really been serious, when she had walked in a few minutes after ten p.m., taking his cell phone and putting it aside on the windowsill, just out of range. His glare at her sweet smile had been lethal, but she had just turned around and switched off the light, and he had given in to his complaining body, soothing it with much deserved sleep.

Now every one of his limbs hurt, his muscles were sore and aching. Damn Castiel and his efficient workout sessions. He wasn't exactly looking forward to more torturing of his poor body, though he yearned to look into those perfect blue orbs again, to drown in their enticing colour, to try and count the thick lashes... He hadn't been able to take his mind off the enchanting therapist ever since he woke up; flashbacks of his dark brown hair occupied him, his careful smiles, the lean muscles on his butt and upper arms, hidden underneath the baby blue cotton... The perfect, firm round globe of his ass, that Dean wanted to grope unabashedly. He remembered the feeling of Castiel's working, adept hands on his back, and it created a churning heat deep in his guts. He felt his cheeks redden. Dean was shifting uncomfortably, when he realized his dick was reacting to his train of thoughts eagerly, twitching treacherously in his pants. Ash and Garth were entering the canteen and distracted him from his little (well, not so little) problem by sitting down at his table, greeting him with sleepy eyes and ruffled bed-hair.

They conversed as effortlessly with each other as anything, and Dean heard himself actually laugh heartily at some point; he felt so cozy around those two. It was a sound that startled him, because it had been quite a while since he had laughed so carelessly, he couldn't even remember the last time. It had probably been before his father's death, and that thought made him frown again and made the smile on his lips fade.

He had returned to his room and lying in his bed, allowing those memories to assail him without restraint. They were sweeping through his insides and clouding his mind. It still hurt to think about John – not only about his sudden death or the last things he had said to Dean; there were sourer countless recollections about his life, closely entangled to love and hate, pride and fear. John had always been a contradiction in his life. Dean had loved him, he had feared him, he had hated him; but most of all, he had wanted to please him, he had longed to make him proud of him. Now that he was dead, Dean knew clearer than ever how blind he had been, what a used tool he had been. And still, he loved his father, couldn't let go of the thought that he wanted to see him alive again and talk to him, have a man-to-man talk instead of a child-to-father-talk.

He wasn't in the best of moods when Castiel knocked at his open door hesitantly, leaning against the doorframe and giving him a mellow look and a tender smile. He looked gut-wrenchingly admirable in the lush, golden morning light, how he stood there in the door with his white uniform, his dark hair strictly combed in a side parting. His eyes were refracting the light and shone in their plain, luscious colour at him, cut right through his heart. His rosy lips looked delicate, and his skin appeared even softer as a ray of light hit it. Dean felt his breathing falter for a second; Castiel looked angelic, fresh and pure like a flower at the crack of dawn, just blossomed and wet with morning dew. His feelings were already quieterfrom just looking at him; without knowing it, Cas was his calming anchor, which brought him down to earth. The smile he returned though wasn't as heartfelt as he had aimed for. Castiel entered the room and they exchanged quiet "Good mornings"; Castiel was sitting down on his bedside quite naturally, his legs hanging loosely from the mattress.

Castiel didn't do anything for a moment, just sat there at Dean's side and regarded him with an expression Dean couldn't decipher; it was a mixture of happy and sad at the same time. Dean felt absolutely flabbergasted and speechless when he fell into those endless blue wells of Castiel's eyes meeting his. A shudder ran down his spine, cozy warmth boiled within his whole body.

"How are you feeling today? Have you had breakfast?", Castiel asked gently, sounding calm and balanced. Dean gave him the evil eye and tried to sulk, as he averted his glance.

"Well, I have sore muscles everywhere, thanks to you! And yes, I've had breakfast. At least the coffee is decent here, helped getting the fruit salad down." Surprised he turned his head, when he heard Castiel's chuckle, and he grinned most self-contented, as he observed Castiel's toothy grin. That he was to blame for those delighted features in front of him made him feel like he was on top of the world. It replaced his rather black mood with a fuzzy heat and a joy he did not comprehend.

"That's reassuring, it's only an evidence that the training is efficient", Castiel replied. Then his hands started pulling Dean's pants leg up again, and soon he was gently touching the naked skin and flesh of Dean's calf and the places around his knee, testing the structure and the temperature of his leg. Dean observed him while he palpated his limb, still wearing a tiny smile on his kissable lips. He looked so beautiful, Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from him. Finally, Castiel felt satisfied, and he fixed Dean's clothes carefully, meeting his glance. It seemed to Dean that he was pleasantly surprised to find Dean's eyes resting on him, because his mouth fell somewhat agape, and he was almost certain he saw Castiel's pupils dilate slightly. It made Dean all antsy and warm inside, clutching his heart with pride.

"The inflammation has passed, I think we can start the training for your injured calf today. It's a bit narrow in here, I suggest we move this to my office", Castiel explained and got up, then he reached out his hand for Dean and pulled him to a stand, though they both knew Dean was capable of doing so himself – the way their fingers intertwined, how their skin brushed together, it was most welcoming, and Dean enjoyed the feel of Castiel's firm touch while it lasted. For a second, their eyes were glued to each other, and Dean felt like he couldn't breathe properly - Castiel's fresh, soapy scent filled his lungs, his mind, his everything, engulfed every sensible thought.

They were both strangely quiet as they walked to Castiel's office. Dean cursed inwardly about his crutches; their eyes darted over each other time and again, and sometimes Dean caught Castiel staring at him, and then both of them smiled hesitantly. There was something in the air, something thick and heavy with meaning – sparks were flying busily between them, heating up the atmosphere, until Dean felt as if he was going insane with passion. He wanted to kiss those pink lips greedily, he wanted to grab Castiel's slim hips and push him against the next wall to ravage him unrestrainedly... When he received another of Castiel's melancholic looks, he decided to man up and talk with him.

"Can I ask you something?", he started, trying to break the ice, whereupon Castiel nodded slowly. "Yesterday you said it gets lonely in here..." Castiel tilted his head and while they walked, his eyes never left Dean's, it seemed to Dean as if they were containing a knowing, yet innocent expression, as if Castiel didn't want to admit he knew what Dean was alluring to. So he wasn't surprised when Castiel shrugged his shoulders and asked "What about it?". He had to smile when he detected the little smile Castiel was giving him, averting his eyes, as he felt his cheeks blush with an embarrassing surge of blood. He didn't know if he was allowed to cross the line between patient and therapist, but he couldn't suppress the urge to get to know Castiel better, so he had to make a daring move.

"Well, are you, uh... are you lonely sometimes? Or why did you say it?" They arrived at Castiel's office and walked inside, Castiel shut the door behind Dean and regarded him with a long, pensive look, while they stood there face to face. Dean sensed his knees were going weak, the longer Castiel looked at him like that – he wasn't sure, but he thought he saw something akin to sadness dwelling in the expression of his beautiful blue eyes, and it burdened Dean with a heavy weight to see this gorgeous, young man look so haggard.

"It doesn't matter how I feel", Castiel said soberly, dismissing the subject with another shrug of his shoulders – in doing so, he put a frown on Dean's face, and he was positive, that, yeah, Castiel was feeling lonely indeed, and that it was a risky topic he obviously didn't want to talk about. So Dean let it go, not wanting to push Castiel, and he lay down on the mat as Castiel told him to do so. Once more the tension between them was painfully noticeable, the silence felt a little bit uncomfortable. Castiel explained briefly what they were doing today, and he and Dean both warmed up before they began the stretching exercises, lying side to side on the mats. When they were done, Dean thought his body was as bendy as those of yoga instructors, his muscles and sinews tingled warmly, fully relaxed. Castiel got to his knees and knelt down beside Dean's side. Their eyes rested on each other, when Castiel placed one hand on Dean's inner thigh and one on his hip. He had a firm grip and he beheld Dean with a steady, intense glance, which made Dean breathless, thoughtless. Castiel was so close, his touches so warm and reassuring...

Heat radiated from Castiel's lean, muscular body, Dean thought he could feel the strength of his limbs, and the energy of his body overflowing him easily. Though he seemed hard to read, Dean enjoyed the careful smile Castiel gave him, for it was undeniably honest and sweet; then he let Cas uplift his leg and rotate it in midair in small circles. Dean heard his hip joint crack disgustingly, he felt how strenuous the movement appeared to his damaged calf, and it trembled underneath his therapist's tight grip.

Castiel's eyes darted over his, Dean watched how he bit his bottom lip, how he bruised the fine, pink skin with his teeth. Then he said "Sometimes", and smiled at Dean charmingly, looking him deeply in the eyes while he continued bending and rotating his patient's calf gently. Dean frowned, not understanding what Castiel was referring to, and the smile on those sinful lips became wider; Castiel chuckled softly.

"I do get lonely sometimes, but I get along with it. I guess we all feel lonely sometimes, right?", he said with calm words, producing unimaginable heat in the depths of Dean's stomach. He just loved the sound of Castiel's voice, and that he was slowly opening up to him made Dean speechless, filled his heart with bliss. Dean didn't know what had made Castiel change his mind, but he was glad he was answering his question after all.

"Don't you have family close by? I never get lonely with Sammy stuck like a bur to me", Dean grinned. Something flickered in Castiel's eyes, a curtain of pain, and his face fell oddly. He averted his glance and wore a thoughtful mien for a second, concentrating on Dean's maimed calf as he moved it with aimed, smooth movements.

"I envy you, I don't have siblings. There's no more family. My father passed away when I was a teenager, my mother died last year", Castiel admitted quietly, and Dean's heart churned with a squeezing ache of terrible sympathy. He had never meant to upset Castiel, though it felt wonderful to get to know him better. When Castiel raised his eyes to Dean's, the blue orbs were filled with a grim determination and years of suffering – they seemed wise and old to Dean, he was aware he was staring into a soul, which had seen a lot, which had aged all too fast.

"I'm sorry", he gasped, feeling like he had crossed a line, and Castiel blinked friendly at him, showing he wasn't offended because of the inconsiderate question. For a few moments they were still, and Dean allowed Castiel to turn him on his side, so that he could uplift his hurt leg in an awkward motion, making Dean utterly embarrassed – Castiel was kneeling in front of him now, and his appearance was pretty distracting. Dean's eyes travelled over his slim stomach, hidden underneath his white shirt, to the V-neck. Protruding lines of his collarbones were visible, and Dean felt his breath quicken as he thought about biting into them, gnawing at them hungrily. There was a luscious, lengthy neck, and Dean would have done a lot to be permitted to suck at the smooth skin, to leave dark hickeys in the crook of Castiel's neck.

The seconds elapsed, and Dean was busy observing how Castiel's Adam's apple slightly bounced whenever he gulped. The arousing sight in front of him, paired with the slender, powerful fingers working on his thigh, was dizzying, almost too much for Dean. At long last his eyes came to rest on Castiel's, and he realized his therapist's cheeks were as red as a beet while he smiled hesitantly at Dean. He had probably noticed Dean's consuming eyes on him.

Castiel's pupils were dilated, and he was biting down on his bottom lip sensually, the sight making Dean's crotch flush with blood and heat. Dean shifted uncomfortably on the mat, feeling beads of sweat on his back and between his thighs. His heart was racing so fast, he thought he had to pass out any second.

"What about you? Do you have family in addition to Sam?", Castiel asked finally, his voice sounding thick and brittle with arousal, if Dean wasn't mistaken, and relief diffused in Dean's stomach when he heard his question. For a God-given moment, he was able to forget about his body's sensitiveness or what a tumult Castiel was easily causing inside of him. Instead, flashbacks of Mary and John came to his mind, and he grimaced joylessly, looking away from Castiel's prying eyes.

"Nah, my parents are both dead, like your folks. My mom died when I was a kid, my dad died a few months ago. Well, actually he was killed, but that doesn't change the end result", Dean said pensively, trying to make a joke, but Castiel saw right through his crappy attitude. He held in his breath when he laid eyes on Castiel regarding him with a knowing look.

"That must have been difficult for you. How are you coping with it?", he asked, concern painfully discernible in his blue irises. Dean's heart convulsed with misery and a blooming love for his therapist – no one had ever asked him like that, because they knew Dean would never talk about it. Sometimes he wished he could become talkative with Sam, but he couldn't stand his agony mirrored in his younger brother's eyes; so they just shut up about it and pretended to be fine. It wasn't healthy, but it seemed easier. There was something lingering in Castiel's eyes that made Dean want to show him everything – maybe it was Castiel's honest interest, maybe it was the fact Castiel had opened up to him too.

"I'm not doing so great, to be honest. I don't think Sam's managing well either. I mean, it's only been a few months...", he mumbled, worrying the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. Castiel smiled gently at him, and Dean felt relaxed, soothed, though his therapist hadn't even uttered a word. For a moment, he stopped the motions he had put Dean's leg through, and he placed a warm hand on Dean's shoulder and looked him deeply in the eyes; Dean felt fidgety and at ease simultaneously.

"Don't worry. You will be fine, the both of you. These things just take some time. I've also faced some dark chapters in my life, like everybody else does at some point, and I muddled through. Don't ask me how, but I did", he ended with a light chuckle, placing a tender smile on Dean's mouth. He was grateful for Castiel's kind words, and how the man pressed his shoulder comfortingly. He thought he could get used to the warm, mellow look Castiel gave him, it set something alight inside his chest. They returned their attention to Dean's leg once more, and Dean let Castiel do some weird stretching exercises. His leg was already trembling, and a piercing pain was rising within his flesh, but he gritted his teeth and kept quiet about it. Castiel stopped after a while, his eyes scrutinizing Dean's features attentively, reading him like an open book. Without words, he lowered Dean's calf carefully and beheld his patient with a long look, while his hands rested on his own bended knees.

"Dean, are you in pain? Your leg is trembling", Castiel questioned caringly; Dean couldn't help but press his lips firmly together and nod his head slowly, confessing he was perceiving pain. It hurt awfully, incessantly. For a second he feared the inflammation would return. He had been raised like a soldier; it wasn't like him to admit he was in pain, only if his life depended on it. John would've ripped him a new one and told him to take it like a man, not like a wuss. However, he couldn't withstand Castiel's stern glare, and he felt miserable when he saw disappointment coming to his fine facial structure. He sighed and patted Dean's knee friendly, trying to smile at him.

"You should have told me, Dean. This is not something to make fun of. If you're in pain, the healing process won't be quickened; it will only be slowed down. Now, let me have a look at how bad it is...", Castiel explained worriedly, and Dean felt like a child, who was being scolded. Hell, he felt damn stupid for not telling Castiel sooner. Castiel's fingers massaged Dean's thigh and the area around his knee, and it felt kind of voluptuous to Dean. He watched Castiel's strict features, while he kneaded his flesh. He might have felt a little bit sorry for his behaviour, but he absolutely enjoyed Castiel's knowing hands on him, they relaxed and aroused him at the same time. Too soon they were gone again.

"It's not too bad, but I fear we shouldn't strain that leg further for now. I suggest we make sit-ups by tossing the medicine ball in turns", Castiel said, his voice sounding softer, and he smiled tenderly at Dean the moment Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Sit ups are always good", Castiel said tauntingly and shook Dean's shoulder kindly.

"In your world, maybe", Dean replied with a grin. He became flustered when he saw Castiel laid down in front of him, so that they were feet to feet. He could see his bended legs were slightly spread as he held the heavy medicine ball in his strong hands, his head raised so that he could meet Dean's eyes. Dean's mouth watered at the given look, his heart missing a beat. Maybe sit-ups weren't that bad after all.

**TBC**

Huh, they're getting closer each day… next chapter will contain a little more intimacy x3 So, please let me know what you think! It really motivates me to write and post faster xP


	5. Chapter 5

Hi ya everyone...! Sorry for the late update...! I promise, next week there will be two chapters posted. A huge thanks to everyone who commented or favored the story so far. I've talked with some of you via PM and that was really delightful – so, if you ever want to PM me, don't hesitate, I won't bite (just a bit *wiggles eyebrows seductively). Also, a lot of thanks again to the lovely Angelphoenixwings14, who beta-read this chapter for me x3 thank you hun, your input is really always appreciated! I've been told the ending of this chapter is sweet...? Let's see!

******Chapter 5**

As it turned out, sit ups sucked, regardless of the place or the person you did them with. Dean knew why his torso was muscled but not quite a six-pack – he _hated _sit-ups, he hated the quaver in his abdomen, he hated the burning feeling all over his stomach. Moreover, he hated doing sit-ups with a medicine ball – his arms were aching, his muscles complaining, while he and Castiel tossed the ball at each other whenever their upper bodies were upright and when they sat slightly up. He was panting and sweating, grumpy and annoyed, and Castiel's toothy winner's smile and the cheeky shimmer in his eyes weren't helping at all. The exercise seemed experienced and graceful when he did it, and though his therapist was slightly sweating and panting too, he wasn't nearly as miserable as Dean. Dean was certain he caught glimpses of the firm, well-toned stomach underneath the white shirt, scraps of tanned, smooth skin shwoing as the hem moved upwards. It made Dean want to throw that ball away and bend over him, bite into that lean flesh and let his tongue travel over it. How would Castiel's sweat taste? Would he gasp and sigh once Dean's teeth bruised his skin, once his hands would encompass his sharp hipbones?

"Cas, I can't go on any longer, you must be insane!", he gasped, and Castiel grinned broadly at him.

"No whining. Come on, five more minutes, then we'll do something else!", he said in between their sit-ups. His voice sounded rough and strained, but the happy smile on his face simply didn't disappear. "Let's talk, it will distract you from the movement", Castiel suggested, and Dean nodded enthusiastically, tossing the ball back to Castiel, who grabbed it with a grunted "Phew!".

"So, do you live somewhere here?", Castiel asked and threw the ball back to Dean, both going down again.

"No", Dean groaned. "I've been on the road all my life. I never stay long in one place, I gotta keep on moving, you know? I kind of live in my car and in motel rooms", he told Castiel with a breathy voice, maintaining the strenuous exercise all the while. He tried to remember all the towns he had seen, all the states he had been to; he was certain he couldn't list them all, there had simply been too many. Ever since his mother's death, John had kept them in motion, and after his death, Sam and Dean hadn't stopped either. Sometimes he wished he could lead an apple pie life, with a rented house or apartment, some place he could come home to after a long day of work. A room he could furnish the way he liked, neighbours whose name he would know, but this day wasn't in sight yet;maybe it would never come. It wasn't too bad though, the life on the road was exciting and rich in variety; it never became boring.

"Huh, I find it difficult to imagine such a life. I've always lived in this town. I bet you've seen hundreds of memorable places and sights on your way", Castiel gasped for breath, pitching the heavy ball back to Dean. He had never thought of it this way, but Castiel was right – he had seen a lot of things in his life, for which other people had saved their money to have a look at the same things he had passed by, taking them for granted. He wondered what it must be like, to lead a life like Castiel, to live in the same town for all those years. It seemed unimaginable to him, and though he kind of envied his therapist, a cold shudder of disapproval ran down his spine. The next time he caught the medicine ball, he didn't throw it back and laid down on his back with a lengthy sigh, announcing "I'm done, no more sit-ups!", whereupon he heard Castiel's deep inhaling. A second later, his nimble fingers brushed over Dean's and took the ball out of his hands and placed it aside. He lay down beside Dean, and they turned their heads to smile tentatively at each other, huffing and puffing.

Dean loved to watch the small rivulets of sweat running down Castiel's temples and cheeks, over his neck and down to the fine line of his collarbones. He was breathing fast, his lips were slightly parted, and it gave Dean all the wrong ideas, none of them appropriate to utter.

"What are we doing now?", he asked, confused about the moment of sweet idleness. Castiel's smile became more vivid, and his eyes sparkled brightly at Dean, while pins and needles were working inside his stomach. How could he do that to him so easily? Make him feel weightless and light-headed with just a smile? Castiel's hands were wafting through the air, he was pointing at the ground and them vaguely.

"I think we're allowed to rest for the last 10 minutes of this session, don't you agree? You've done enough for now, let your body slacken for a moment... oh, and while we're at it, tell me of those places you've been to", Castiel said, and it made Dean smile. He could see the naïve excitement in his regard, how he longed to hear about funny adventures and known places of interest. He couldn't deny him this simple request, so he rummaged about in his brain for fitting memories.

"Uh, I've... well, I've driven on the Golden Gate Bridge, when we were in San Francisco. And no, I didn't wear flowers in my hair", he joked, thinking about Scott McKenzie's song. It was one of the happier remembrances he had; the radio had played some quiet rock song, and for once, John had been in a good mood. Sam had slept in the back seat, and Dean had been sitting next to his dad. He must have been, what, 14 or 15 or so, and it had been summer, a few weeks, which had felt like a proper vacation to them all. The golden sunlight had cut through the thick fog surrounding the bridge in the early morning, while they crossed the sea underneath them. He felt Castiel's contemplative eyes resting on him, eager for more.

"You, uh... you get a very different respect for the ocean, when you know it's a few hundred meters beneath you, you know? Especially at that time, we didn't see the water, we just knew it was there. The bridge is always wrapped up in adamant fog in the morning and the evening, so all I could actually see was lush, golden sunlight and white mist, you know? It looked kind of nice, though, ethereal, as if time stood still...", he heard himself say, as he tried to describe it for Castiel, and Castiel's look became incredibly tender. Dean felt his cheeks blush the moment he realised what he had said – when had he become so sappy? He knew it had something to do with Castiel's presence; he blamed those knowing, innocent features... He simply couldn't help but feel accepted and understood in his company, it felt effortless to be himself.

"That sounds lovely... I wish I could have seen it too", Castiel mused, gnawing at his bottom lip. It made Dean feel regret, regret for this man, who obviously wanted to see more of the world beyond this town; he couldn't stand the frown on his face, so he nudged his rib playfully and gave him a smirk, when the blue eyes met his green ones.

"Hey, it's nothing you've missed, and anyway, it's not like you're an old man, you can still see it if you like. Also, I bet you've seen thousand great things too. Or you've done things I've never been able to. Don't get me wrong, the road is my home and I feel like I belong there, but sometimes I think it would be a nice for a change to stay at one place for more than just a few days, you know?" Castiel nodded slowly, and a hesitant smile returned to his soft, pink lips. For a while, comfortable silence lingered between them. Dean was inwardly marveling at how quickly they had gained an understanding for the other. It felt like he knew Castiel longer than just two lousy days, and still, he knew there was more to discover. His heart beat vehemently and rapidly in his chest, the more he drowned in those gorgeous eyes, the longer he stared at this sweet smile... A desperate urge thrived inside of him, he was about to grab the hand of Castiel, which lay idly next to his hip, and to hold it for a while in his – but then, there was a knock at the door, which startled them both.

"Castiel, Misses Pendula is on her way, she said she got distracted by her husband's call, that's why she's a little late", a dark-haired woman said; she was wearing a white uniform as well and gave them a kind smile. Castiel nodded and thanked her, and she was gone like the wind. Castiel got up and reached out his hand to help Dean stand up. It was a little bit weird to stand in front of each other once more, after they had started opening up to each other – now Dean had to leave again, but he ached to keep talking with Castiel. Castiel was blushing hard while their eyes observed the other, and he smiled fondly at Dean. It stirred a warmth within Dean, that clung to his heart and mind forcefully; all he wanted was to embrace this man and hold him in his arms. Instead he said "I guess I'll see you later?" and Castiel nodded, confirming he should meet him here at 5. His arms and legs didn't feel like his own as he made his way back to his own room with difficulty, leaving Castiel behind. It was peculiar to lay down in his bed again and to know Castiel was within the same building, only a few hundred meters away, but somehow so very out of reach.

…

Dean was reflective the whole day through, thinking about his conversation with Castiel. Cas made him feel privileged for his different lifestyle, though Dean was certain, he wouldn't repeat his words as soon as he knew everything about Dean, as soon as he saw the whole, ugly truth behind the farce. He was so quiet, Ash and Garth were giving him worried looks as they sat in the common room and played poker.

"I don't know, I don't like that broody face of yours, buddy", Ash muttered, then he sipped on his coffee. Dean was startled out of his thoughts and drew a card. His eyes darted over Garth's and Ash's, both scrutinizing him attentively.

"What, you mean me?", he asked, trying to sound surprised. Great, so now he wasn't even hiding his weird emotional life anymore; he really needed to relax or watch out for his behaviour. Garth smiled sympathetically at him, and Ash grinned.

"Seriously, dude. Cheer up! It's just your second day in here. You will go nuts if you spend too much time on your thoughts. Told you, you've got to find some distraction. Why don't you join me and go to the art class or do crochet like Ash?", Garth suggested, putting an amused smile on Dean's face as Ash confirmed "I can crochet like a god", and he scoffed when Ash wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

"No offense, Garth, but that's really not my thing, you know? I think I better find a liquor store and get drunk. I really don't know how you two are doing it, I can't imagine being here for weeks. I mean, there's stuff I gotta do, you know? And my brother's out there all by himself, he could use my support", Dean told them earnestly, receiving thoughtful looks in return.

"You know, Dean, that's why most of the people are here, if you ask me. They always think they need to do this or that and they bite off more than they can chew, and whoops! They're hurting themselves and end up here. The world has to learn to get along without you. Don't you think we've got stuff to do, too? Hell, Garth here has a whole farm, his wife has to organise everything until he's healed. No matter what you do, it won't accelerate the healing process of your leg, got it? So you better find yourself something to do in here before you lose your mind", Ash rambled, and Dean actually took it to heart. He nodded wordlessly and grabbed the course catalogue, which lay on the table, making Garth laugh heartily and Ash grin. Listlessly he skimmed the pages, getting stuck when he saw a poetry course, which would discuss known writings. It was twice a week, right after lunch; he had secretively always been interested in poetry, how people were able to make you feel such strong emotions with just a few lines. To this day, no one he knew was even aware of his hidden love for rimes and verses, but he decided to give this offer a try.

"You're losing again, by the way", Ash commented and put his cards on the table. Dean eyed them, knowing, Ash was right indeed(;) he had lost again. Damn it.

…

Dean was just getting ready to hobble to Castiel's room, when his therapist walked into Dean's room, wearing a dark blue, short jacket. Confused he took in his appearance, wondering why he was wearing the jacket. Weren't they supposed to train any second now? Castiel gave him a broad, heartfelt smile and stroked through his dark, combed hair, apparently nervous.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to relocate the session and go outside. The weather's fine, and you could use some fresh air. If you have a sweater, that'd be best to wear for the workout", Castiel explained, and Dean was somewhat glad to have a reason for leaving the building. He was accustomed to being outside most of the time, be it on a hunt or when he drove the Impala, it was unfamiliar to spend this much time indoors. So he agreed with a nod and walked to the wardrobe with his crutches, grabbing his worn out, grey sweater. He donned it quickly and accompanied Castiel with a slow pace as they walked silently along the corridor. He appreciated how patient Castiel was, that he didn't complain once about Dean's snail pace, for he was already annoyed by it himself.

When they came outside, the sun was still shining, though the cloudless sky above them was about to darken. The air was spicy and a little bit cold; it was early in spring, and the winter hadn't loosened its tight grip completely yet. Castiel led Dean towards the deserted park; only a few joggers and patients were walking in it, it was either too icy, or they had better things to do than to be in a park on a workday (probably sewing courses, Dean thought bitterly). He let his eyes wander, as he considered the area. He could see his own breath, and how the sunlight fell on the greening, large lawn ahead of them. The trees of the surrounding avenues were putting forth the first buds, new leaves growing on their branches. There was a climbing frame in sight, in the middle of the lawn, and as Castiel headed for it with confident steps, Dean felt his heart sink to his boots.

"Oh, no, come on, man, you must be joking!", he exclaimed, as he became aware of Castiel's intentions. Castiel turned around to him while they were walking, and gave Dean a wide smile and winked at him. He felt breathless, speechless, as he regarded the joyous sparkle in Castiel's stunning pair of eyes; hey were practically bursting with life and vividness. Castiel looked beautiful in the declining, golden sunlight, his hair seemed darker, his eye colour richer, his skin precious. Dean almost forgot to complain.

"Bring it on, Dean! I will even participate, so that you'll see it's manageable", Castiel spoke, but it didn't exactly raise Dean's spirits.

"You're trying to kill me", he pouted, whereupon Castiel just laughed. They came to a halt when they reached the abandoned climbing frame, and Dean eyed the iron bars and wooden bridges, meant for children, of course, skeptically. He let his crutches fall to the floor and stood face to face with Castiel, who still smiled, unperturbed with Dean's sulky mien.

They ended up making their way hand over hand along the iron bars above their heads, training their biceps and triceps in the process. Dean felt his whole torso shake, the movements being quite strenuous. He cursed Castiel's thick jacket, because he couldn't gape at his surely firm, muscled upper arms. He felt like an ape, as they repeated the motion countless times, hoisting their weight solely with their hands along the structure. His hands were freezing thanks to the iron bars. He watched Castiel swing himself a few steps away as Dean held himself on the bars, a broad grin on the therapist's face. Dean scoffed and shook his head; he couldn't help but envy Castiel's athletic figure and stamina.

When they were done with their workout an hour later, Dean felt like his whole upper body was burning. He was sweating, and the evening's wind was drying the perspiration underneath his sweater all too quickly. After their apelike climbing, Castiel and he had done push-ups and exhausting stretching exercises. Dean's pecs ached, his arms quavered, his back felt used – but altogether, he felt relaxed, wonderfully spent. Soon it would be time for dinner, but neither he nor Castiel said a word about it. They sat on the cold, grassy ground, Castiel cross-legged, Dean with outstretched legs, his palms placed behind him. Above them, the sky was dipped into a light blue, the first silvery stars were appearing on the firmament. The park was emptying, and from the distance, Dean could see the lights of the rehab-center. He didn't want to leave Castiel so soon; tomorrow wouldn't be early enough to see him again. He loved to hear him breathing next to him, he loved the scent of his sweet sweat, mingled with a soapy smell; they were sitting so close to each other, that he was certainhe could feel Castiel's body heat blanketing his side, which was facing Castiel's.

"So, have you found an occupation already? If you haven't heard of it before, we have a diverse course offer", Castiel said into the silence, and Dean turned his head and beheld him with a pensive look and a smile he couldn't hold back.

"Actually, yeah... I'm thinking about joining this poetry course. Don't laugh at me, I'm kind of entranced with poetry. It was one of the only things that kept me interested back in school...", Dean confessed. Somehow, he was positive Castiel wouldn't make fun of him for saying such a silly thing. He lost himself in Castiel's blue eyes, which were darker and dilated in the evening's twilight. He looked so hauntingly beautiful, it touched the deepest foundations of Dean's heart, he felt a profound warmth growing within his chest. If only he could kiss those soft lips, claim them for himself... Castiel smiled and averted his glance, he tilted his head and looked up into the sky above them and sighed, and Dean had time to look his fill on Castiel's fine structured features.

"Oh, plunge me deep in love – put out my senses, leave me deaf and blind, swept by the tempest of your love, a taper in a rushing wind", Castiel suddenly said quietly, making Dean's skin crawl effortlessly. It shook him deeply, to hear Castiel's sweet words, he assumed he was reciting a poem. A blazing fire burnt within him, having something to do with the way Castiel turned to him and smiled tenderly. He was slowly but certainly turning to jelly, melting right in front of Castiel. The attraction between them was tangible, making it difficult to breathe. Castiel's cold fingers brushed over Dean's outstretched hand, their eyes never leaving each other, and he placed his palm confidently on Dean's chilly fingers. Dean heard his own heartbeat vibrating loudly and excitingly in his ears, delight bloomed inside his mind. He turned his hand and grasped Castiel's and held it firmly in his.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me", Castiel teased with gentle words. It was the trashiest thing Dean had done in a long time, but he let his thumb stroke the back of Castiel's hand in small circles. They both put their heads back and gazed at the stars above them, a silent understanding lingering between them, as they kept holding hands. They didn't need words for the moment. Dean felt light-headed, overjoyed, at having a huge crush on his therapist. Castiel's words resounded in his ears, his heart didn't want to calm down. Dean perceived his cheeks blushing severely, as Castiel's fingers intertwined perfectly with his.

******TBC**

So? What do you think? I'd love to read your thoughts x3 *hint hint* Hope you or we all survive 9x03. Oh, btw, the poem recited in this is called "I am not yours" by Sara Teasdale. Once the story is finished I'll make an overview for all the poems recited... x3 Until then...!


	6. Chapter 6

The poem recited in this chapter is called "Touched by An Angel" by Maya Angelou. UPDATE - now with the improvements of the lovely Faith Valconbridge, who beta-read this chapter for me! I totally forgot about that, thank you hun and sorry to those who already read the chapter! Luckily we recognized the same mistakes, though her input enhanced some sentences in this x3 kudos!

**Chapter 6**

The chilly night's wind played with their hair and clothes, tugged ruggedly at them. Earth frost spread on the ground, and soon it became too cold to keep sitting on the meadow. Castiel got up at first and held out his hand to help Dean stand up too. Dinner time was long passé; they had spent too much time holding hands, regarding the starry firmament, absorbed in their own thoughts. None of them mentioned their sudden willingness to become intimately physical with each other as they slowly walked back to the rehab-clinic. Their eyes fled to each other time and again, careful smiles crawled to their lips. At some point Castiel poked Dean amicably in the ribs with his elbow, surprising Dean as he met his mellow gaze while they kept walking.

"Sorry I made you miss dinner," Castiel apologised, Dean scoffed. "Don't worry, I guess it's bearable to forfeit vegetables and fish bonne femme," he dead-panned, placing an amused toothy grin on Castiel's mouth. "Still, I try and compensate for it; maybe someone will steal something out of the kitchen. Though I've heard of no such thing," Castiel joked, making Dean grin too. He felt all tingly inside to converse with Castiel so nonchalantly, and if he slowed his pace even more, it was solely because he didn't want to return to his room all so soon. He was pleasantly surprised when he understood Castiel accompanied him to his room, and so, they had more time to talk.

"That thing you recited only just, that was pretty awesome. Is it something you wrote?" Dean asked, as they strolled along the empty corridors. The patients were either in their chambers or in the common room, watching TV with others. Castiel chuckled lightly and shook his head.

"Nah, it's just one of the poems that stuck to my head. My mother had plenty of poem collections at home, she loved those books. And she always had a poem for every situation. I guess other mothers sang to their children when they were small, my mother always recited poetry for me," he explained, and a tender expression surfaced in his deep blue, lucid eyes. Dean admired the soft blush coming to his therapist's cheeks, he seemed a little bit embarrassed to have admitted such a private thing. No matter how often Dean made jokes about these moments, especially with Sam, he couldn't and didn't want to abuse Castiel's openness, he didn't want him to feel awkward because he had revealed something personal to Dean. So he nudged Castiel's side friendly and smiled when their eyes met.

"My mother used to sing to me, though she only ever sang 'Hey Jude' by the Beatles, you know? Weird lullaby for a kid if you ask me, but I can still hear her voice singing it. She had a great voice," Dean said pensively. They came to Dean's room and walked inside. Dean heaved a sigh of relief when he sat down on the comfortable bed, feeling the mattress move underneath his weight. Castiel leaned against the doorframe and beheld Dean with an unreadable smile as his eyes were glued to Dean's.

"Has she been dead for a long time?" Castiel asked, and Dean nodded, averting his glance.

"She died in a fire when I was four; Sammy was only six months old at that time. Been on the road ever since", he conceded, wondering why he didn't try harder to conceal his true self. It felt so damn good and relieving to talk with someone about it, with someone he knew would understand him, because Castiel had lost his parents too. Castiel approached him and sat down on the bed next to Dean, his hands in his lap; he let his head hang down, briefly he gave Dean a side glance. His blue eyes appeared savage and nervous to Dean.

"And still you remember her voice... huh... It's one of the things I've been afraid of ever since my parents died. That one day you won't be able to remember their faces, and their photos seem strange to you, unfamiliar. That you don't remember their voices, the look of their eyes... it all fades away one day, you know?"

Dean gathered his courage while he beheld Castiel's strict thoughtful mien, feeling pity and a great ache tearing in his chest. He reached out his hand and took Castiel's in his, holding it gently but with a firm grip. Castiel lifted his head and met Dean's eyes. A warm sentiment rattled through Dean, as his thumb stroked the back of Castiel's hand soothingly, as he drew a tiny smile from his therapist. He looked divine in the dim light of the bedside lamp; Dean hungered to kiss that brittle smile, to feel those soft lips move against his slowly, in detail.

"Even when the memories become blurry during the years, the feelings won't change. You will always remember how you felt about them, how they felt about you. No one can take that away from you, not even time itself," Dean assured him with quiet words. He saw Castiel gulp heavily as if a terrible pain was strangling his throat, and tears were welling in his eyes as he squeezed Dean's hand and nodded wordlessly. He clicked his tongue with a sudden, bitter expression, and then he got up and brushed over his eyes with the back of his hand, walking towards the door again. He turned around and stopped before he left Dean, smiling tenderly at him.

"I'll get you some grub, I'll be back in a few minutes," he said with a shaky voice. Dean gazed after him in awe, aware he had touched a sore point of Castiel's innermost thoughts. He wondered if he was supposed to apologize for talking to Castiel so thoughtlessly, or whether he had done something wrong. Before he could consider it further, his cell phone rang, showing Sam's name. He answered the call immediately, lying down in his bed wholly. For the length of his conversation with Sam he didn't have to think about Castiel and his relationship to the therapist. Sam told him he hadn't found further traces of demonic activities; he was currently stationed in a small town a few hundred miles away, working on a case of ghost possession. Dean listened attentively and gave some words of advice, though he knew Sam could handle this problem on his own.

A few moments later Castiel returned to Dean's room, carrying a tablet with steaming, deliciously smelling casserole. He put it down on Dean's nightstand, giving him a loveable smile that made Dean all flabbergasted and nervous. He almost forgot to listen to Sam's words as Castiel whispered "I'll see you tomorrow," pointing at Dean's cell phone. Before he could go, Dean heard himself say "Sam, hold on a sec, alright?", then he held the phone against his chest so that Sam wouldn't be able to hear him.

Dean seized Castiel's hand with his, holding it loosely while he looked up into those gorgeous blue wells. Castiel turned to him and smiled gently at him, making Dean light-headed and wonderfully infatuated with his therapist.

"I didn't say anything inappropriate back then, did I? Are we okay?" he asked gingerly, feeling himself blush crimson, his cheeks heated up effortlessly. Castiel's look became tender; he stroked Dean's back of the hand with his fingers and smiled at him affectionately.

"No, you didn't. We're good, Dean. Have a good night," he replied with his dark voice, making Dean's skin crawl. A hot sensation flooded his insides, his spine tingled, his heart leapt into his throat. He nodded and returned the smile. "Thanks, Cas. You too", he said, and Castiel winked at him and left him with his late dinner and Sam on the phone.

"Aww, was that your, what's his name, Cassandra, Casper, Casio?" Sam teased, whereupon Dean rolled his eyes, trying to stuff his face with the awesome dish Castiel had brought him. He was almost certain they hadn't served this for dinner tonight; he must have gotten a special treat.

"His name is Castiel, you dumbo, and yes, that was him", Dean growled, ignoring Sam's hearty laughter.

"Hm, you seem kind of hot for his knickers", Sam noted, enhancing the blush lingering on Dean's cheeks.

"You shut your cakehole; it's none of your business. Even if, doesn't matter, I'll be gone in like six weeks."

The severity of his own words came crushing down on him, realisation set in. He wouldn't be here forever, in a few weeks he would be on the road again, continuing his life like he always did. Flings had never been important, love interests had never mattered – they had never had the privilege to care. He and Castiel weren't even a fling, but it left a feeling of emptiness, a gloomy, black hole inside him, to think about leaving the young man behind. He was barely concentrating on his phone talk with Sam anymore, he was so out of it.

…

The rest of the week passed quicker than Dean would have liked. He spent his free time with Ash and Garth, every day he trained twice with Castiel, and he took part in the poetry course he had signed up for. It was weird to talk about poetry with others, to unpick every line, every verse, to search for the maximum of meaning without restraint. Dean had never spoken so openly about his own thoughts and feelings with strangers – there were several old ladies in the course who seemed to have cast an eye at him, who listened to his interpretations with patient smiles and a joyous glitter in their crinkled eyes. The course instructor was an elderly bearded man, who turned out to be kind and who gave them interesting poems as the subject for a discussion every time. He was certain, his dad would have scolded him for this kind of dalliance, and Sam would have probably laughed or told him he was proud of him – but it didn't matter to Dean. For once he was happy to dive into a thing he liked without being judged for it.

Whenever they looked closely at a love poem though, he couldn't help but think of Castiel. He felt deeply connected to his therapist by now, although not even a whole week had passed. His sweet smile appeared in his mind's eye, his blue, melancholic eyes regarded him, when he lost himself while he read those specific poems over and over again. It made his flesh crawl, and he smiled to himself, letting his thumb brush over the piece of printed paper in front of him.

"We are weaned from our timidity / in the flush of love's light / we dare to be brave / and suddenly we see / that love costs all we are / and will ever be. / Yet it is only love / which sets us free"; it made Dean feel a horrendous ache for something he had forbidden himself a long, long time ago. A desire pounded within him to have what he hadn't had in all these years, a stable relationship, intimacy, which lasted longer than a single night, longer than a few weeks. Togetherness. He had always thought he couldn't have such a thing, as well as he couldn't have a normal, boring, safe life. So why did it bother him so badly that he couldn't satisfy his heart's wishes when it came to this matter? Why couldn't he stop thinking about Cas, why didn't the daydreams about an unattainable future with him end?

These thoughts didn't leave him, not even or _especially not_ when he was together with Castiel. By now it was a Friday. It was late in the afternoon, and Dean lay on a roll mat in Castiel's office. The therapist was kneeling beside him, holding Dean's upper thigh and knee bend with his two hands in a firm grip. He moved Dean's injured leg in careful rotations and flexed it with slow movements, his eyes darting between Dean's calf and his face as if he was estimating Dean's condition. Sometimes Dean frowned as the idea of pain played in the background of his awareness, and in these moments Castiel stopped the exercise, meeting Dean's mellow look with a soft smile and a nod, sometimes accompanied by a hum.

"The muscle is getting stronger, but your body tells us both where to stop, and we just have to accept that", he explained with a soothing, deep voice once Dean gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes in annoyance as another wave of pain made them halt for a while. It was becoming a habit that Castiel distracted Dean from the movements and the odd feeling between strength and weakness lingering in his leg with questions about his journeys. They never specifically spoke about Dean's profession, skipping this topic cautiously, but there were enough other things Dean could tell Castiel about.

Dean, in his stead, started to let it become a habit to let his eyes linger on Castiel's calm features observing him or his body while he chatted. He had learned to read his facial expressions, and now it was easy to see the littlest smile on those chapped plump lips while he spoke. And Dean spoke a lot, he couldn't even remember when he had spoken so carefree and emotionally the last time, or if he had ever talked like that. It came naturally in Castiel's presence, there was no way he could maintain his usual filter. It should have scared him or worried him at least, but it simply electrified him, fascinated him. Maybe it was down to the fact that Castiel listened so attentively, that he absorbed Dean's words so hungrily, and still he was asking for more – it made Dean light-headed, filled him with a bliss he couldn't put into words. Castiel seemed to bring out another side of him, a side he had buried a long time ago.

"... and the woods in the evening, when the sun is setting, above the trees you can still see the pink and orange glow, but on the road it is already night, and there's darkness and silence between the tree trunks. It's kind of beautiful, you should see it someday...", Dean mumbled drowsily; he was still worn out from their first workout session this morning - an awful lot of climbing stairs and walking in a course with his crutches. He loved the tender gleam coming to Castiel's eyes, and how affectionately he smiled at him, their glances glued to each other for a moment. Dean's heart skipped a beat; he saw Castiel's cheek become rosy-tinted. His pupils seemed dilated, and Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from those sinful lips, slightly opened. Castiel sighed and averted his eyes, focusing on Dean's leg once more.

"Your life sounds like an adventure. I wish mine was only half as exciting," he said quietly, making Dean's insides cringe with guilt and sympathy. He had never meant to make Castiel feel like his life wasn't interesting enough just because he had stayed in one town in his existence. Dean sighed too and took Castiel's hand in his, away from his upper thigh. Within the last days they had started touching their hands more freely, less restrained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Dean still tried to persuade himself there wasn't more behind it, no hidden agenda, no motives of the heart. His fingers embraced Castiel's and he squeezed them lightly; Castiel lifted his head, meeting Dean's eyes with a vulnerable, wild look. He appeared like a deer in the headlights to Dean: beautiful, petrified, uncertain. He longed to reach out his hand and cup Castiel's fine cheek, to feel the scarce stubble underneath his fingertips and tell him everything was alright with him, that there was nothing wrong with him or the way he led his life.

"Trust me, it's no adventure. It's rather an obsession I can't quit, and it's dangerous and bloody; it's a thankless task. I'm only ever telling you about those things I cherish, that make my daily life easier. There've been times when I couldn't see anything good around me, and I was so close to drop the whole thing... but... you know, I'm still able to extract advantages from it mostly."

Castiel intertwined his fingers with Dean's gently, squeezing Dean's hand. He nodded and looked down again, his fingers brushed against Dean's while they kept holding hands.

"Is that why you're sleeping with a monster knife underneath your pillow?"

Dean inhaled sharply, it felt like a punch in his guts, and he and Castiel shared a quick look, which Castiel held firmly. He smiled at Dean.

"Don't worry, the chambermaid told me the other morning, after she had changed the sheets of your bed. She found a knife under your pillow and described it to me like something only Chuck Norris would carry with him. It's not exactly forbidden to bring weapons into this rehab-center, but I could have collected it, had I felt the need. I figured you wouldn't go berserk on everyone, so I let you have it. Can't help but wonder about it, though... You're the first patient I had who has a knife. Others had firearms, members of the National Rifle Association et cetera… but no one ever had a knife," Castiel told him, keeping his eyes attached to Dean's. Dean wanted to laugh when Castiel mentioned Chuck Norris, the next second he wanted to tell him everything about his life, and that he had other weapons too – but there was no way he could reveal the family secret. As much as he wanted to, he wasn't allowed to. It wouldn't hurt anyone though to convey some of it to Castiel, the outlines at least.

"I grew up with a lot of weapons, and I think I can operate most of them. Bow and arrow, guns, knives, and so on... My dad taught me how to shoot when I was six, told me I was hawk-eyed," Dean chuckled; it was a happy memory, which came to his mind. Though he knew deep inside, this was where the first stone of his way had been paved, a road, which led to violence, killings, blood and tears. The smile faded slightly when Castiel spoke to him again, a knowing, pensive glimmer in his eyes.

"And you said he was killed? I don't want to sound smug, but I've heard those who surround themselves with weapons are often killed by them as well..."

Dean didn't take offence at Castiel's words; he couldn't blame him, because he was right. John could have chosen to turn away from the supernatural life; he could have pretended none of the ghosts or demons or other nasty things existed, he could have tried to lead a simple life. Instead he had chosen a dangerous, brutal life, and he had paid the price. He felt Castiel pressing his hand tightly, their warm palms were conjoined. Flashbacks of his father's death appeared in Dean's mind, and he gulped heavily, trying to shove the pain aside.

"Too true..." he confessed, and Castiel inhaled deeply, his thumb stroking over Dean's thumb caringly.

"Hey, I feel kind of bad; you told me so much about yourself the whole week. I feel like I owe you," Castiel said with a terribly beautiful, toothy smile – immediately the bad memories faded away, and Dean soaked up this gorgeous smile, seeing how it reached those deep, blue eyes. He replied with a smirk, feeling ease spreading inside his belly.

"If you want to, you could come over tomorrow. There are no workouts on weekends because so many patients have visitors. I live nearby, but I could pick you up... and maybe, just maybe, I'll cook you something less healthy," Castiel said – his smile wavered between nervousness and confidence, his tenseness somehow made Dean feel flattered, ensnared even. He couldn't hinder the blush which tainted his whole face and neck thoroughly. If he didn't misunderstand Castiel completely, he wanted to get to know him better – and he couldn't shrug off the idea that it sounded suspiciously like a date.

"Sounds awesome, I'm in", he agreed with a grin.

Friday night Dean had troubles falling asleep – the last nights he had slept peacefully, though Castiel had come to his mind countless times. This night, it was worse. He could feel his hand entangled with his, the phantom pressure of his fingertips against his back of the hand. Those endless, deep eyes examining him, the sweet smile he had brought to those lips... Dean could still smell Castiel's wonderful, harsh-sweetish scent, it filled his lungs. And his body, oh God, his firm, lean body... Tomorrow was all Dean could think of – tomorrow he would spend a whole evening at his side. It made him grin like a pubescent teenager; he felt pleasant anticipation rushing through his body. Tomorrow.

**TBC**

If you're still with me and interested in this story, please let me know! Also, if you have a suggestion when I should post the next chapter(s), please tell me.


	7. Chapter 7

Phew, my darlings, what's going on? Thank you so much for all those lovely reviews I received recently! They made me very, very happy x3 A thousands of thanks to the gorgeous Faith Valconbridge for proofreading this chapter and saving you from horrible, embarrassing mistakes I made. Go and read her Destiel AU "A thousand beautiful things", will you? I can promise you things will get smoking hot xD Now, let's return to our sweeties...

**Chapter 7**

Dean didn't like the weekends in here, he had figured that out pretty soon. It meant he had way too much time to think and to ponder about things he rather forced back. Surely, on the road he had time to think as well, but it was a different kind of awareness filling his mind. He still had to concentrate on the case they were currently working on, or on the road signs, or the signals the Impala gave him. Only vague ideas clouded his head then, there was a turmoil of everything at once, so it was impossible to focus on just one thought. Here, in the rehab-center, he had all the time in the world to think about every frigging thing in detail, whether he wanted to or not. There wasn't much he could do to distract himself, so he gave way to his train of thoughts after all.

He was ill-humored after lunch. He was in no mood for company, having the mindfulness he would probably only dampen the mood of everyone around him. Dean thought he should have been excited, that there should have been at least some sparks of cheerfulness within him in regard to this Saturday's evening when he would see Castiel again. But he was simply too uptight and stressed with his brooding that he couldn't really look forward to their date tonight. There were many things which bothered Dean today. Maybe it was just a temporary blues, and tomorrow he'd be able to laugh about himself and shake his worries off – but today he felt like he had fallen into a deep, black hole, and there was no way to escape it.

Somehow he had managed to walk outside, into the park he had been to with Castiel the other day. The sun was shining brightly, and the flowers were blooming. There still was no warmth in the sun, but it was evident - spring had finally arrived. The trees were almost completely green, the grass looked lush and fresh. Dean was exhausted when he reached a bench and sat down on it, placing his crutches next to him. For a while he leaned back against the wooden frame with closed eyes, enjoying the sun's rays resting on his face. He breathed in the clear air, felt the light breeze stroking through his hair.

He listened to the voices in his head, fighting with each other for dominance and reason. One sounded so very tired, it begged him to quit this life, to find peace and safety, some kind of stability. To let others feel this weight on his young shoulders, to let others save those innocent people and to kill those evil beings out there. It was the voice of a former Dean, one that had asked himself the same questions over and over again – when John had made them leave another town behind, along with new-made friends, lovers and schools. This former, child-like Dean, that had cried secretly to himself after killing another being, scared and alone, and with no one to talk about it.

The voice argued with another, the older version of Dean, who longed for closure and _revenge_. He still perceived the urge to find the damn son of a bitch who had killed his father. Though his and John's relationship had always been stony, he knew he owed that much to John, to their family. This older part of him was also furious and violent, _wanted _to kill with his own two hands – half of him felt some kind of responsibility, as he knew a lot as a hunter to save others, on the other hand this part hungered to murder because of all the frustration and suppressed anger Dean felt.

He knew he was sometimes just an inch away from losing his sanity, and that alone should have been enough reason for everyone to stay away from him. He should have written a warning in red on his forehead, telling everyone to mind their own business, because Dean Winchester was a crazy, rowdy person, who could burst any second. A frown appeared on his forehead as those thoughts interfered with visions of Castiel. They weighed heavily on his heart, and he felt his shoulders slump promptly. The other man emitted such a peaceful aura, though it was intermingled with a beautiful kind of melancholy. His eyes, his smile, his gorgeous appearance, he was angelic to Dean, untainted, unless by some kind of pain at the utmost. It seemed wrong to drag him into this life, and Dean knew, it was only reasonable and responsible to stay away from him as far as possible. Who was he to befoul Castiel, and to dim the bright light of his soul? Who was he to demand everything from him, only to give him this piteous shard of a man he was in return?

It wasn't like Dean to reject an offer for a one-night stand when he fancied the person. Nor would he have had objections to start a fling, given the time and place, without regrets – because those two occasions mostly consisted out of sex without deeper meaning. If Castiel was willing, well, he could have had him the first night he had met him (he was that confident, because he knew exactly how to turn on the charm). The crazy thing was, regarding Castiel, as sappy as that sounded, he didn't want just sex. Of course, he was hot for his knickers, there was no way to deny it, and just the idea of sleeping with him made his pants uncomfortably tight and his mouth water. But there was something about him, something that struck Dean hard, right in the guts, that told him he wanted Castiel to stick around. He wanted to see those smashing eyes _every _day, he never wanted to miss the adorable smile, nor the sound of Castiel's voice, his tentative touches... Maybe that was why Dean was so bad-tempered – he was slowly losing his nerves. He didn't want to ruin this evening, he didn't want to lose the opportunity to be close to Castiel.

Though he knew he would never deserve someone like Castiel, and though he knew he better stayed away from him for Castiel's own sake – he simply couldn't back off. He _needed_more of Castiel, he needed to see him. At long last, the tiniest smile came to Dean's lips, as he remembered Castiel's hands intertwined with his, how their fingers had fitted together perfectly. He could still feel his thumb stroking over his gently; in his mind's eye he saw the smile Castiel had given him reaching his eyes, how the appearing crow's feet suited him. All at once, it couldn't be evening soon enough.

…

Dean had had a lie-down for a couple of hours, for one thing to kill some time, for another thing to improve his sour mood. He was still half-asleep and very drowsy when someone knocked against his opened door. Through tiny eyes he saw Castiel leaning against the doorframe, wearing jeans, a black shirt and a red, thick hoodie jacket. It was already dark outside, and the rich, orange light of the nightstand illuminated Dean's room. He saw the light fracture in Castiel's eyes; his skin seemed to glow softly, his sweet smile felt dreamlike to Dean. He returned it and yawned heartily, then he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up slowly. He froze a little bit as he pulled the warm blankets aside, his body was completely overheated. Dean guessed he must have looked as sleepy as he felt, because Castiel scoffed and chuckled quietly as he entered the room.

Their eyes met as Dean laced up his one boot, half bent over. He grinned sheepishly at Castiel, who stood in front of him, regarding his bed-hair with a brittle smile.

"I didn't know you could sleep all the time," Castiel teased, making Dean's grin wider. It had been a clever, tactical move of him to sleep his bad temper off. He was calm now, and damn, incredibly hungry. He let Castiel help him get up, and when he felt his firm, strong grip on his forearm, a hot shiver ran down his spine. For a second they stood in front of each other, face to face, their eyes scattering about the other man's face in awe. It soothed Dean to lose himself in Castiel's reflective, hauntingly beautiful eyes, and to see the littlest smile tug at his therapist's luscious mouth.

"Are you ready? My place is not that far away from here, but you should wear a jacket or something, it's a bit frosty outside..." Castiel said, eying Dean's stature from head to toe. He was wearing his well-worn jeans and a grey, close-fitting Henley shirt he had grown fond of. He liked how it emphasized the muscles of his upper arms and his pecs, and, by all appearances, Castiel's roaming, dilated eyes implied that Castiel liked his outfit too. Nevertheless, he donned a black, warm hoodie. He grabbed his crutches and together they left Dean's room.

"So, did you enjoy your free day?" Castiel asked while they walked outside, leaving the rehab-center behind. He tilted his head and met Dean's glare, giving him a toothy grin as he caught Dean's deathly, grim look.

"I don't live close by, Cas. What do you think? I don't have relatives or friends here, I don't know this town. I almost bored myself to death, I don't even know how to survive the upcoming weekends," he admitted with a growl. They strolled through the park, which was now plunged into the evening's darkness. At this hour, the park was abandoned and only tiny islands of white, electric light showed some scattered joggers and people walking their dogs. Though it was spring, Dean could see his and Castiel's breath appearing in front of them in the form of small clouds.

"Good thing I invited you over, then." Castiel concluded, lightening Dean's mood. He nudged his therapist's shoulder friendly and smiled at him.

"Hey, don't flatter yourself before the evening's over. Who knows, maybe you've cooked with arsenic?" he teased, loving the vivid, carefree atmosphere, which lingered between them. This way okay, Dean told himself. They were just chatting idly, nonchalantly, without commitments, promises or other complications.

"No, I don't have the intention to poison you. Who's gonna whine about my cruel workouts then?"

Castiel nudged Dean's shoulder in return, catching him off-guard, so that Dean actually swayed and lost his balance for a heart-stopping moment – but then, there was Castiel's hand holding his upper arm instantly, keeping him in a vertical position. They both laughed breathlessly, and Dean let his body weight rest on Castiel's grip for a second, half bent over to him. Their clouds of breaths intermingled, and as he looked up, he saw a joyous glint burning in Castiel's eyes in the bluesih twilight of the surrounding night. They shared a mellow look and innocent smiles, and it took all of Dean's composure not to grab Castiel's face and kiss him senseless right there and then. His proximity was addictive, it made Dean dizzy and filled his stomach with a thousand butterflies.

They continued walking and came to an apartment complex after a few minutes. Dean felt so alive, so insouciant in Castiel's company, it was overwhelming, heady, how quickly he could forget his gloomier thoughts and all the things which troubled him. Castiel retrieved his key ring and unlocked the front door; he held it open for Dean, a true gentleman, and Dean hobbled inside.

"That really wasn't far away," he laughed. Castiel passed him by and held his apartment door open for him – this was becoming ridiculous, Dean thought. He had never been wooed like that, especially not by a man, and Castiel was already so charming – Dean worried where this evening was heading to, he would probably die of his own embarrassment and Castiel's lovingness.

The smell of baked potatoes wafted through the air, as they entered Castiel's apartment, and Dean's tummy rebelled for food. When they were inside, he caught a brief insight of Castiel's dwelling. The place looked neat and not too fancy. There were laminate floors everywhere. From the corridor Dean could recognize there were three rooms – the kitchen, the bordering living room and at the end of the apartment there must have been Castiel's bedroom. Castiel pulled off his jacket and held out his hand, so that Dean could give him his hoodie. It was quite warm in the flat, so Dean quickly took off it off and gave it to Castiel. He couldn't help but notice how cosy and familiar it felt, to be in his apartment, about to have dinner with him. In another world, this might have been his alternative lifestyle, and he was definitely not averse to it. Coming home to Castiel sounded appealing...

He watched Castiel rummaging in the kitchen, his back turned to him, as he stood awkwardly in the doorframe of the room, not knowing what to do with himself. Castiel turned around to him and gave him a contagious smile.

"Why don't you nose around my place? I'm not really shy about my stuff, and I need solitude when I cook. Other people make me nervous and I'd let everything scorch," Castiel suggested. Dean's heart leapt into his throat as he heard those words, he gulped heavily. How could Castiel know he was practically _burning_ to do just that? Of course it was inappropriate to snoop around in other people's stuff, but Dean wanted to see and know everything about this man – and now he had his permission! His fingers were already itching with anticipation. He tried real hard to hide his excitement, as he nodded and as he said a casual, "yeah, okay." A grin, along with a terrible blush, spread over Dean's face the moment he turned around and began limping through Castiel's apartment with his crutches. He could walk quite decently with those damn crutches by now, but he still lacked the finesse, and he was a bit clumsy as he had a close look at Castiel's living room.

His eyes darted over considerable rows of DVDs, and he studied them attentively. There were some movies he loved, some he dreaded, and others he had never heard of before. In the nearby kitchen, he heard Castiel hum and something sizzled in a pan. It smelled awfully divine. Dean appreciated the sound of Castiel's dark voice humming nonsense, it felt so homely... On one of the side tables, he saw multiple photo frames, showing Castiel with other persons. He leaned down and examined them closely. He grinned broadly to himself as he detected younger versions of Castiel, probably in his teens and in his childhood. Some of those photographs showed him with a woman, and she appeared in various other frames as well. Dean assumed, she must have been a close relative – the way Castiel had put an arm around her, or how another photo showed them cheek to cheek, smiling happily...

Dean noted, in every frame, she was sitting in a wheelchair – and as Castiel had aged, so had she. The wheelchairs had changed during the years – in the photo, which Dean thought was the latest, he saw her laying in a flat wheelchair, one of those, in which one could actually lie, and Castiel's eyes seemed less lively, veiled with pain, as he stared into the camera with a forced smile. He held her crinkled, skinny hand in his. It made Dean feel uncomfortable, specifically when he compared the earlier images of Castiel with the newest ones. The change was obvious, tremendous. He was deeply lost in thought, absentmindedly he regarded the empty, numb look of those gorgeous blue eyes in the last photo. Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he startled, ripped out of his own world of thought. Castiel handed him a glass of red wine, which Dean accepted with a quiet, "Thanks." He sipped the wine, turning to the photographs once more.

He felt Castiel's presence beside him, and as he moved his head, he could see him looking at the photo collections as well, a melancholic, brittle smile crawled to his sinful, plump lips. The expression of his eyes seemed glassy, far away, as if he was invaded with countless memories. He took a great gulp of his wine and sighed, then he tilted his head and smiled gently at Dean. Dean's knees turned into jelly, he felt a little bit muzzy, when he recognized the tenderness of Castiel's eyes, as he looked deeply into Dean's.

"That woman in the wheelchair, that's my mother. Told you, she died last year. Come, dinner's ready."

Castiel took Dean's glass of wine cautiously out of his hand and left; flabbergasted Dean followed him into the kitchen, the brief phantom touch of Castiel's fingers brushing against his still tingling on his skin. He felt like he had stepped into dangerous territory. For the first time in a long while, Dean hesitated – he wanted to ask Castiel personal questions, but he didn't know if he was allowed to, or if Castiel even wanted to talk with him. For a moment, this kind of contemplation vanished, when he saw two plates on a high table – two chairs, akin to bar stools according to their height, were placed around the table. There were two bottles of wine, innumerable candles were the only light source in the kitchen. Castiel already sat on one of the chairs and observed Dean with a gentle smile, an enchanting. calm glow in his eyes. Dean felt his jaw drop, his mouth was agape, as he took in the scenery. He couldn't remember the last time someone had cooked for him or when someone had made such an effort for him. It touched him more than he wanted to admit. With wobbly steps he walked to the table and sat down opposite to Castiel, placing the crutches aside.

He admired the view on the plate – steaming, baked potatoes and perfectly roasted _steak_ and _bacon_-wrapped string beans. Dean's mouth was immediately watering, he couldn't contain the wide grin splitting his face in two. Castiel held out his glass of wine and they chinked glasses, their eyes lingering on each other for a moment too long.

"Bon appétit, I hope I didn't screw it up," Castiel said with a casual smirk. Dean tasted everything and the appreciative moans which left him, made Castiel's cheeks turn deeply pink, and he laughed lightly to himself. Dean thought it was the best meal he had had in his whole life, and he took his time to relish it, chewing it all with pleasure and patience.

"God, you're heaven-sent, Cas. This is delicious!" he praised, loving how his words intensified Castiel's blush.

"So, what's with your mother? I mean, I couldn't help but notice she was dependent on a wheelchair. Did she have a sickness or something?" Dean asked, daring to voice the thoughts in his head. He hoped Castiel didn't take it amiss and understood it as mere curiosity, not careless rudeness. The pensive look in his eyes showed Dean he caught Dean's interest and how he had meant it. He smiled and refilled their glasses with more wine, making Dean wonder if Cas tried to get him drunk.

"She had multiple scleroris, it's a disease of the nervous system. It's incurable, and it leads to disabilities. In earlier years my mother was able to walk like everybody else, then came the walking stick, then the first wheelchair. In the end she could only move her head and her hands, the rest of her body was either paralysed or hurt her. We, uh... she and I, we trained together since I was a teenager, it helped to delay the signs of paralysis."

For a while Dean just stared at Castiel, incapable of continuing eating his dinner. He wasn't even aware his mouth stood slightly agape, and how his glance seemed to make Castiel somewhat uncomfortable. Only when Castiel averted his eyes and stared at the table, Dean realized how rudely he had behaved.

"I'm sorry, Cas. Wow, I... that must have been hard for you. I didn't mean to make you feel bad with questions," he clarified, and when Castiel uplifted his head, a fierce fire was burning in his deep, blue eyes, consuming every tender nuance lingering there. It had nothing to do with weakness or sadness, rather with passion and determination, and Dean admired him for this. He seemed less like a lost child, who had cared for his mother, he rather looked like a warrior, bitter and aged through his experiences.

"You don't, Dean. It's okay. I can manage to talk about it by now. Just the first weeks after her death were most difficult, but we knew it had to end someday. My father's death kind of prepared me for family members dying. It's not like it's not happening in other families too. I mean, look at you, your parents are dead as well, and we're both only in our twenties."

Dean didn't want to talk about himself or the tragedy that his family was – at least not when he was still sober. He knew it was quite selfish, but he wanted to get to know Castiel better, it seemed more appealing to him than to share sad stories about Mary or John or the ridiculousness that his life was. He nodded and devoured the last remnants of his steak, and as he couldn't restrain more moans, Castiel laughed again, and it made Dean happy and light-headed. He grinned and drank more wine, absorbing the bright gleam in Castiel's gorgeous pair of eyes on him.

"Do you live here all alone? Is there no fiancée or missus Novak?" Dean questioned daringly, leaning forwards – his breathing faltered and stopped, when he saw Castiel mirroring his position and leaning forward too, so that their faces were merely inches apart. Castiel grinned mischievously and narrowed his eyes apparently suspiciously.

"No, Dean, there isn't," he explained, then he chinked their glasses once more and winked at Dean. He watched Castiel drinking more wine, his eyes never leaving Dean's, and Dean understood. He recognized a hint easily when it was dropped. Heat churned inside his stomach, and his heart fluttered excitedly. He averted his eyes and chuckled shyly, rubbing his neck. Damn that man...

**TBC**

Hmmm what do you say? Please let me know, I cherish each review x)


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks for all the new followers this story received! I'm happy about your interest, but I'd prefer if you left a comment on this as well *hint hint*- you would absolutely make my day x3 A million thanks again to the gorgeous Faith Valconbridge, who beta-read this chapter and saved you from my horrible mistakes – kudos!

**Chapter 8**

They spent the evening chatting mindlessly, though their plates were long emptied. Dean didn't know how much wine both of them had drunk by now, but the first bottle was exhausted, and from the way he and Castiel often giggled and grinned, he assumed they were both more than just tipsy. When Castiel brought walnut pie as dessert, Dean groaned joyfully. He was about to sing Castiel's praise and told him so, but Castiel shushed him with a laugh and put his incredibly warm hand on Dean's mouth, telling him to shut up. Dean was dumbstruck as he felt his comfortably warm palm on his lips, as he drowned in the gleeful look with which Castiel regarded him. Soon Castiel sat down again and they enjoyed their pie. Dean had heard it was bad manners to mix different sorts of wine, but neither he nor Castiel complained when they opened the bottle of sweet white wine – it fit perfectly to the dessert.

Dean felt important due to the way Castiel looked at him, and how easily and animatedly they conversed. It reminded him of the feeling he had rarely had – to know he mattered to someone, to know he was loved. It excited him beyond imagination, all his insides buzzed, well-calibrated to Castiel's whole being. His words were a comfort for Dean's weary soul, and he was certain, he would never forget how lovely the other man looked in the candle light, how he grinned around his spoon whenever he ate his pie and watched Dean eating in his stead. The atmosphere was electrified, sparks were flying between them. Dean learned Castiel had slid into his job as a physiotherapist through the disease of his mother. Ever since his teenage years he had been interested in medicine and methods of treatment. It had been a great plus that he had been authorized to train with his mother, like this they had been able to save the money for a caregiver.

A terrible, throbbing ache constricted Dean's throat when he listened to Castiel's quiet voice, how he became gloomier and averted his gaze, once he spoke about his father. It pained him to hear the hurt within Castiel's narrations, as he told him his father had been depressed and that he had killed himself because he couldn't stand the progressive illness of his mother. He had been too weak to be strong for the both of them, so Castiel had to accept this role after his father had taken his life.

"I kind of hated him back then, you know? He left me and my mother all alone, he put all that weight on my shoulders, and I was only 16. My mother was getting really sick, and she was desperately unhappy, so I had to pull myself together, grow a pair and muddle through. I don't hate him anymore nowadays; I just wish he had been braver..." Castiel sighed. He took his and Dean's plates and put them in the sink. Dean smiled softly to himself when he saw how Castiel had difficulties walking straight and in a controlled manner. He heard Castiel letting water run into the sink, he watched how his shoulders slumped, and he sighed a gut-wrenching sigh, turning halfway to Dean. He smiled sadly at him, and Dean thought he saw tears welling in his fascinating, blue orbs.

"Sorry, I didn't want to burden you with this crap. It's just been a while since I could talk with someone so openly about it. With you, I feel like I have someone who really listens, you know?"

"Cas, no, don't be sorry, please, man. I do listen, and I do really care. I'm glad you share this with me. Feels kind of good to know you...," Dean admitted, wondering if it was the wine speaking out of him, enhancing what he was feeling inside. He was sure, he would have felt utterly embarrassed had he listened to himself sober. But the smile which came to Castiel's lips was worth a mint – it produced a steady heat in the depths of Dean's stomach, and it made him all flustered and edgy.

"You too," Castiel agreed with a choked voice, and Dean's heart skipped a beat. He harrumphed abashedly and got up clumsily. He approached Castiel and together they did the washing-up (Dean stood awkwardly on one leg) – Castiel washed the dishes, Dean dried them with a towel. Often their shoulders bumped into one another, and often they did it on purpose, sometimes with more, sometimes with less force, and they chuckled, though none of them commented on it. When Dean risked a brief side glance, he saw the satisfied smirk on Castiel's mouth, and he was glad he had brought it to his lips.

…

They ended up in Castiel's living room, with Castiel on the couch, and Dean on the fluffy carpet, his legs outstretched. Hours had passed; the time had elapsed really rapidly. Dean leaned back against the couch, and Castiel's legs were around his sides. They were killing the second bottle of wine, and the vibe between them was pretty innervated by now. Dean didn't refuse Castiel's offer to massage his shoulders, after Dean had complained how they ached through those stupid crutches. Now Dean sighed and moaned unrestrainedly, as Castiel's adept, strong fingers loosened his uptight shoulders with firm, circular movements. At a particular lewd moan, which escaped Dean uncontrolled, Castiel stopped briefly.

"Dean, the noises you make… what do you think will my neighbours think? The walls are a little thin," he scolded, but Dean could hear the grin in his voice and he laughed breathlessly.

"Don't tell me you're all goodie two shoes. You must have poached some people; I bet your neighbours heard worse things!" Dean taunted, and he laughed when Castiel smacked the back of his head lightly. Castiel continued to massage Dean, and he sighed wretchedly when Dean moaned and grunted again. He had to agree, it definitely sounded as if they were having sex.

"Well, I've had my share of one-night stands, can't lie. But those times are over, I sowed my wild oats."

Dean scoffed, not sure he could say the same thing about himself. There was just something about sharing the night with a stranger, trying to learn his or her body as fast as possible, to exchange caresses without further attachments. Though he had to admit, during the years it had felt less and less meaningful, and deep inside he knew he hungered for more – more than just a rough night, someone, who would actually stay until the next morning and many mornings thereafter.

"So, what, you're a saint now?" he bantered, but Castiel didn't seem impressed with his remark, he just proceeded massaging Dean's neck and shoulders skillfully, eliciting moan after moan from him. Those goddamn, strong hands knew exactly where to press, where to rub, how to touch him...

"No, I'm just saying, I've decided the next time I sleep with someone, I want it to matter. I want it to mean something. I'm tired of all the nullities. I mean, aren't you too? Or do you have someone you're with?" The question implied an unspoken yearning between him and Castiel, which Dean could feel seep swiftly into all of his pores. He had heard the soft undertone in Castiel's words, and it punched him right in the guts, made it hard to breathe. Did this mean Castiel wanted him? While those thoughts crossed Dean's mind, he also saw memories of himself leaving lover after lover behind, because they had to say goodbye to the town or another state, because another case was waiting for them, and John wanted to move on. Desperate hugs, empty promises to stay in touch, a thousand last kisses, hushed words and hidden tears at night. Heartbreak after heartbreak. Castiel couldn't know, but how could he cut right into Dean's heart with such a simple question? How could he make him remember all those persons he had to leave behind and ask him if there was room for another possible lover in his life at the same time?

"No, there isn't someone. To be honest, the kind of life I lead... I don't really have the luxury to care about a lot of people, and I travel back and forth through the whole country. How am I supposed to be with someone when I never stay in one place? It's my curse, you know? The good looks, my magnificent charm, I just attract people..." Dean said half-jokingly, feigned pretentiously, and he startled a little when he heard Castiel's hearty laughter behind him. Castiel's hands lay idly on Dean's shoulders, and Dean could feel his face hovering above his shoulder, approaching him from behind, they were almost cheek to cheek. Castiel's hot breath fanned into his ear, making Dean writhe a little on the floor. God, he was so close... How had he come so close? Heat arose in Dean's chest, he was overflowed with oversensitivity. Castiel's scent was enchanting, beguiling, and Dean's fingers twitched treacherously – he ached to turn around and bruise Castiel's cheeky mouth with passionate kisses, to nip at his plump bottom lip and to have his fill of him. He heard Castiel's low voice behind him, talking quietly.

"Though that's quite arrogant, I bet you do." Castiel purred and Dean stiffened in his motions, loving how dark and intimate Castiel's voice sounded. He absorbed the compliment greedily and relaxed again. The wine was making him drowsy, and Castiel's tender loving care had eased his uptight, cramped body. He felt insanely comfortable in Castiel's nearness, and so it merely surprised him, when he felt his head roll to the side, and as it came to rest on Castiel's upper thigh. He shut his lids; the world was spinning maddeningly, even with closed eyes. He was drunk, he was completely flustered through all the emotions Castiel had made him feel tonight – and he couldn't contain the gleeful, careful smile, which crawled to his lips as he realized one circumstance: He was _happy_. Possibly he had to thank the wine for a great portion of this happiness, but the other half was most definitely Castiel's fault.

All at once, there were slender fingers in his hair, stroking softly through the strands. They massaged his scalp gingerly, and it felt so good, Dean had to sigh softly. Underneath his cheek, he sensed Castiel's firm thigh – the muscles, the hot flesh, right through his jeans, and it was the most comfortable pillow Dean could think of. In the morning he would probably regret his careless behaviour, but right now, it felt like heaven on earth to be so close to Castiel, to feel his nimble fingers caressing him calmly. He didn't care about his dead father's or Sam's opinion in this precious moment, he didn't care about his masculinity or role models he was supposed to live up to – all that mattered was the undeniable affinity he felt he shared with Castiel. Whatever it was, which dwelled between them, it made Dean's heart thud slowly in his chest, it made time and reason irrelevant. It calmed and aroused him simultaneously. Castiel's fingers sifting through his hair endlessly was somehow much more important, more intense than most one-night stands he had had.

He didn't want to talk about it, and apparently, Castiel didn't want to either. The minutes passed, while Dean sat on the floor with closed lids, inebriated, smiling like an idiot, while Castiel kept fondling his head tentatively, with the lightest of touches. Dean's exhales became shallower, slower...

After a while, he perceived Castiel's hand shaking his shoulder a little, and Dean awoke with a start – he must have fallen asleep on his therapist's leg, leaned into him. He realized he was less intoxicated, and a blush crept on his cheeks and his neck, as he stretched with a groan and then turned around to Castiel, still sitting behind him on the couch. How long had he slept on him? What had Castiel done in the meantime? It should have bothered Dean, that he had lost his inhibitions around an almost stranger so quickly, that he had paid no heed to his presence. He already trusted him so profoundly, that he could sleep next to him. Castiel's smile swept all those worries easily away, and Dean was hypnotized by the mellow gleam of his infinite, blue eyes.

"I really don't want to chuck you out, but I think it will cause a stir if you're not back for breakfast. I made you miss dinner twice this week, makes no good impression." Castiel noted, amusement flickered in his glance. Dean nodded and yawned – he was too exhausted to feel regret or shame for the intimacy they had shared this evening (be it on a physical or emotional base), he even hungered for more.

Castiel struggled to his feet and held out his hand for Dean. With a swift movement he stood as well, so very close in front of Castiel – they were face to face, and it made Dean short of breath. It seemed like his exhales were tuned to Castiel's, that they were breathing in unison, and it made Dean lose his composure rapidly. His hot breath mingled with Castiel's, it blew against his mouth repeatedly, made his head swim. It was so very strenuous to withstand the temptation to uplift his hands and frame Castiel's fine face – not to morph their lips together in heady, vehement kisses, claiming those plump lips with his own. Castiel finally found the strength to turn away, and Dean took his crutches and followed him wordlessly to the apartment door.

As they stood there in the greyish twilight - Dean's back facing the door and Castiel in front of him – it appeared to Dean that their breaths were terribly loud, uneven. He didn't exactly know where he and Castiel where standing in the moment, but the urge to be near him was unbearable. Especially when he drowned in the dark glint ignited in Castiel's wide, blue eyes. They were clinging to Dean's steady look, reading him like an open book. He was still worried how Castiel could do that, breaking seal after seal of his protective wall to gain access to his innermost thoughts, with just a quick glance.

Dean saw Castiel's lips were slightly parted, sensually even; his appearance wrecked Dean, he couldn't stand it. He was so irresistible, unreachable, and right there in front of him. Before he understood what was happening, he saw Castiel was approaching him, overcoming the last step separating their bodies. Then there were strong arms thrown around his sides, and Castiel pulled him gingerly into a hug. Their chests met, and Dean was overwhelmed with the sheer intensity of _feeling_Castiel against him, around him. His ribcage felt hard and lean against his, for a heart-stopping moment, Dean could feel Castiel's chest breathe against his. He stood awkwardly in the hallway, with Castiel wrapped around him, while the crutches hindered him from replying to the embrace in an equal manner. Inside of him a terrible yearning thrived, he wanted to engulf Castiel too. He harrumphed, trying to get over his sudden timidity. With Castiel holding him it was difficult to concentrate.

"Uhm, Cas, I'd hug you back, but my arms are already occupied," he explained, his voice sounded suffocated. Within a second, Castiel withdrew slightly; His arms were still around Dean's back, and he looked up into Dean's face with a cheeky smile. Dean could see the mischievous glimmer in his eyes through the half-light, it made him speechless, as if he was struck by lightning. He let Castiel take the crutches cautiously out of his hands, and he watched how he leaned them against the wall. Dean shifted his body weight on his sane foot, and then Castiel was around him once more, holding him in a bone-crushing, tight embrace. It knocked the air out of Dean's lungs. The intensity of the embrace was overpowering him, he was so painfully aware of everything taking place: Castiel's hands were on his back, fisting his shirt desperately. Castiel's moist, hot breath against his bare neck, his forehead touching Dean's jaw, as he hid his face in the crook of Dean's neck.

Dean allowed himself to respond to Castiel's careful caress; he engulfed him in a hug too. He rested his chin on Castiel's boney, broad shoulder and inhaled the maddening, entrancing scent of his hair and body. Now that they could hug properly, Dean let one of his arms come around Castiel's slim waist, his other hand traveled into Castiel's dark strands as he cupped the back side of his scalp. Automatically his fingers were curling into the soft mop of hair; a high-pitched, satisfied sigh escaped Castiel when Dean's fingers stroked his scalp tenderly, when the fingernails of his other hand dug boldly into the flesh of his hip. As if they had an unspoken agreement, they both moved closer to each other, so that their bodies were conjoined from their hips to their shoulders. All at once, the air they breathed was thick with want, passion pumped through their veins – Dean felt his knees loosening, his mind was befogged. All that mattered was the sensation of holding Castiel like this, of feeling his slender fingers on his back, holding him rather desperately. He felt so firm and soft in his arms, it was addictive.

Deep down inside of him, Dean knew this simple embrace was unreasonable, especially because it was swiftly getting out of control. Though he was very unwilling to do so, he disengaged from Castiel slowly, releasing him from their embrace. Castiel's smile was all it took to make Dean flustered all over again. Everything within him screamed for more closeness to this man, the attraction between them almost ached Dean, the longer he remained idle, the longer his body wasn't glued to Castiel's. He noted their exhales sounded erratic, and he knew he had to get a hold of himself immediately; otherwise he would plainly lose it.

"Thanks for tonight, Cas. You really saved me from death by boredom," he said without breath, fueling Castiel's gorgeous smile. He nodded briefly, then he gathered Dean's crutches and handed them back to him.

"You're welcome, the pleasure is all mine. I see you on Monday, alright?"

It was Dean's turn to nod; he tried to burn Castiel's appearance into his mind before he would leave. He never wanted to forget how affectionate his words sounded, raspy and thick with emotions. How his eyes sparkled, bursting with life and an ineffable joy, which made Dean antsy and utterly cheerful.

"Will you be alright or should I walk you back? In case someone kidnaps you or something," Castiel grinned, and Dean simply had to reciprocate the cheeky smirk.

"Don't worry, even if, they'd bring me back in the morning," he joked, and Castiel laughed lightly. Castiel held the apartment door open for Dean and they said affectionate, quiet "Goodnights" to each other, when Dean walked passed him. Castiel waited, until Dean had left the house, only then did Dean hear the sound of his apartment door closing. Damn, he thought to himself - What a night it's been...

…

Dean sneaked back into the rehab-center, it was past eleven – thankfully no one noted him, he slipped into his room, unseen by anyone. He was comfortably sated and the remains of his alcohol stupor made him dog-tired. When he sat down on his bed, he picked up his neglected cell phone – there were three missed calls, and all of them were from Sam. Shit, he had totally forgotten about his brother and their rule to phone each day. Dean lay down with a groan and dialed Sam's number, about to apologise to him. He had been so intrigued with Castiel that he hadn't even thought about Sam, though he knew he should have. Sam answered the phone, he sounded upset and fidgety.

"Dean? Is that you?" Sam asked, Dean winced once he realised he had worried his younger brother unnecessarily.

"Yeah, it's me," he answered guiltily, receiving snarled questions in return.

"Where the fuck have you been? Are you too busy to answer your phone?" Sam complained. Dean scratched his head nervously; he could already imagine what Sam would think of his today's pastime.

"I was at Cas' place, sorry, I totally forgot about talking to you," he confessed, a little harassed.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you, Dean! You said I should call every day, and when I do, you're not there. You could at least take your phone along and write me a text message that you're indisposed or something. _Moreover,_ what do you mean, you were at Cas' place? So now it's _Cas_? What happened to _Castiel_?" Sam argued. Dean felt a fierce blush coming to his cheeks, scorching heat soared in his stomach, constricted his throat. He understood Sam was somewhat angry with him, but it was none of his business where he spend an evening at, or more importantly, with _whom._

"Yeah, so what? We're getting on well. Should I apologise for that?" he countered, hearing Sam's scoff.

"Don't give me that kind of crap, Dean. I know you. Look, all I'm saying is don't become too attached to that guy. Whatever put a bee in your bonnet, get it out."

Dean gritted his teeth; with his other hand he clenched a fist. Had he been so obvious? Maybe he shouldn't have talked with Sam about Castiel almost every day of this week, he might have revealed more than he had intended to. For a few moments tense silence lingered between them, and Dean felt his defensive walls crumble all too quickly. He had never been good with lying to Sam. He sighed agitatedly, it was like a wordless concession he made, and Sam recognized the given hint.

"Look, I mean no harm, and you know that. It's just... this make-believe world, it never lasts. I know what I'm talking about. I've tried it with Jess for an even longer period, and you know perfectly how that ended. All I'm saying is, you will leave this place in five weeks, so don't get used to his company. We're not meant for this, Dean."

"I know, Sammy... Yeah, you're right," Dean replied reluctantly. Deep down inside of him he knew Sam was only sensible, he reminded Dean of the wariness he had forgone all too easily in Castiel's company. His mind told him he was clinging to a fantasy, to daydreams of a future that could never be. His heart protested when reality set in and clutched him with its firm hands, as its claws cut right through him. He continued talking to Sam, and their topics quickly changed, the discussion about Castiel was put aside for now. When Dean hung up a good while later, he felt like he had been torn in two. Ambivalent feelings wrestled inside of him, he struggled for a solution, absolutely helpless. It was a hindrance that he remembered the feeling of holding Castiel in his arms vividly. He could still feel his soft, dark strands as he twisted them between his fingers. He could still hear his breathing stumble the moment he had seized his hip firmly. A painful riot rumbled in Dean's heart when the memories of Castiel mingled with Sam's admonishing words. When he fell asleep, he still didn't know what to do.

**TBC**

Sooo? Got anything to say? Next update will probably be on Friday!


	9. Chapter 9

Hello darlings…! Someone mentioned I make Sam unlikeable in this, and I just want to assure you: It's not my intention. I love Sam and though he might be a bit scolding in this I still want to portray him as Dean's cute, lovely little brother… So, no Sam-bashing! Uhmm… I have to warn you, this chapter is not beta-read but solely proofread by myself (Hey, I made an effort xP)… and I apologize for two politically incorrect (not racist, misogynic or whatever...) sentences in this chapter (that sounds horrible!) in advance. Poems recited in this chapter: "To his coy mistress" by Andrew Marvell and "How shall I woo thee?" by Paul Laurence Dunbar. Thanks again to the charming Faith Valconbridge for listening to my wails about this story so patiently hehehe x3 and to all those who reviewed and favoured the story so far!

**Chapter 9**

The second week of Dean's stay in the rehab-center had arrived. It was laughable, only a week had passed, and he was already deeply at odds with himself. He simply had too much time on his hands; he had never spent so many countless hours with brooding about his life, his desires, and his obligations. Though he had some difficulties accepting the moderated life in the rehab-center, he slowly started to embrace it. It turned out Ash and Garth had been right: the longer he was here, the more he got used to it. It actually felt good to re-read his favourite books before noon or after lunch, his head was filled with thousand thoughts and the welcoming silence of his room. Sometimes he even walked to the park again; the sunlight was gaining strength and warmth, and Dean enjoyed the rays of light caressing his skin.

Not only time passed differently here, the small things began to increase in importance. Sleep was all of a sudden cherished again, and Dean was grateful that the nightmares often made room for more pleasant dreams – and that he was still capable of dreaming beautiful, amazing things. It still felt weird to smile, but Dean caught his lips forming a smile more often these days – when he read, when he appreciated something he had taken for granted; hot, long showers, well-deserved muscle ache in his challenged body, a piece of pie as an exception on a Monday or reading another poem. Each day he chatted gaily with Ash and Garth – he lost an awful amount of game tokens during their poker sessions, and they decided Dean would have to make up for his losses with alcohol.

On Tuesday night they stole away. It was after ten in the evening, so they had to make sure no one noticed them. They were grinning and chuckling like excited children, feeling like some rebellious teens disobeying their parents as they limped through the quiet corridors. Just the thought of how they must have looked like made Dean laugh breathlessly, and they shushed each other stupidly. Once they had managed to escape they found a 24/7 kiosk and bought various bottles of alcohol – whiskey, Smirnoff and mixed wodka. This night they barricaded themselves in Ash's room. In order not to draw too much attention, they had lit some tealights, and while they were getting drunk together, they played cards and had whispered conversations. It was like a little, forbidden party in the rehab-center, it extinguished the monotony and the loneliness of each passing day.

Garth and Dean were laughing hysterically, holding their hands over their mouths to remain soundless – fits of laughter shook their bodies, while Ash told them about a one-night stand he had intended to have ages ago, that had gone wrong terribly.

"So, there I was, thought I had hit the jackpot. Tell you, that woman, wow, she was a bomb! I mean, her long, brunette hair, her full boobs – and apparently she wanted me too, you know what I mean?" Ash boasted with a grin. "So then we went to her place and we were making out, second base kind of stuff. And then she took my hand and placed it on her lap, and I felt something hard, and that was definitely not her cell phone or something. And then her, or should I say his? I dunno, then her boyfriend came in, and he was already bare ass naked and wiggling his eyebrows at me. I can't even begin to tell you how quickly I left that place. Though she was pretty indeed."

"I bet her cock was pretty as well", Garth teased with a toothy grin and they all snorted with laughter. Dean wiped a tear of laughter from his cheek and sighed. Garth took another sip from his whiskey and sighed as well.

"Damn, I miss my wife. I'm glad when I can see her again… two more weeks," Garth slurred pensively. Ash chinked his glass with Garth's and nodded compassionately.

"Yeah, I miss the ladies of my local bar too. Phew, there are some wild cats in there, rawr!" Ash agreed. Dean scoffed and shook his head, trying really hard not to think about Castiel in this moment. Garth caught his mellow look and observed him attentively.

"You have someone home too, Dean?" he asked kindly, and Dean downed his whiskey with one gulp. He shook his head in denial, letting his eyes wander between Ash's and Garth's thoughtful miens. He frowned at them, still struggling with images of Castiel seeping into his mind. His gorgeous smile, his lucid, blue eyes... The memory of holding him in his arms and to feel his respondent hands on his back in return... His throat convulsed with a dolorous ache he didn't understand, and he gulped heavily against the pain. This was ridiculous, he only knew him for not even two full weeks.

"No, man, I know that look. You're lying, there must be someone going round in your head," Ash persisted. Dean feigned a smile and poured himself another glass. He clicked his tongue and averted his eyes.

"Maybe so, but there's no reasonable chance for me. Let's better not talk about it," he concluded, receiving eager, sympathetic nods of the other two as a quid pro quo.

…

Apart from the time he spent alone or with Ash and Garth, Dean continued attending to the poetry course he had signed up for. It took place twice a week, and he grew quickly fond of the poems they had received this week. Then there were also the training sessions he had with Castiel twice a day. It was immensely tough to contain himself around Castiel, now that he knew him better. Sam's warning resounded in his head every day, screamed at him to see reason, but this voice became strangely silent when he was in Castiel's nearness. How could he take note of his brother's concern when Castiel smiled ever so fondly at him several times during their workout? When he hovered above him and stretched his injured leg with some force, their faces only a hair's breadth apart? It felt so natural to be physically close to Castiel; due to the therapy they were often forced to touch one another without hesitation. For example, Dean had to hold on to Castiel's shoulders when they both stood and when they tested the flexibility of his calf, Castiel in his stead had to seize Dean's hipbone and knee bend every time he curved his legs towards Dean's stomach when he lay on the ground.

It was unnerving how Castiel's prying eyes were always transfixing Dean's during the training sessions, watching him attentively. It corded up Dean's throat, produced a knot of affection and emotional turbulences in Dean's stomach. He found he didn't have the strength to mind Sam's premonitions, he often returned Castiel's glassy stare with a fond smile. His whole spine tingled when he saw Castiel giving him a tender smile then; it diminished the ghosts of worries haunting Dean all the time. Castiel's luminous eyes, the twirl of his rosy, full lips – those images were clearly etched into Dean's mind, and when he lay awake in bed at night, they came to him in the darkness. He was basking in the bright light Castiel somehow emanated, and though Dean knew of his painful past now, he thought he still saw the persistent beauty of him, shining wondrously behind his carnal shell, invincible. With each passing day it became more and more impossible to hold the affection for him back.

Dean almost dreaded each workout session, because he felt closer and closer to his therapist every time – quite naturally Castiel and he always got to talking, and he told him more about himself while they trained. Time and time again their fingers would brush over each other, and when there were a few minutes left before Castiel had to tend to his other patients, they would lie on the mats and hold hands properly. Castiel's thumb would stroke Dean's hand then, while he listened silently to Dean's narrations. Dean couldn't help but enjoy Castiel's presence, the carelessness and intimacy with which they conversed and behaved around each other. He found himself telling Castiel more of his countless road trips, and he loved the fair gleam in Castiel's eyes, as his mind wandered off to distant daydreams with relish while he listened to Dean's descriptions quietly.

Now it was Friday afternoon and they were through with their latest workout session; Dean was Castiel's last patient for today. Both of them lay flat on the mats in Castiel's office, side to side, huffing and puffing. Thin layers of sweat were sticking to their bodies, they were both somewhat exhausted. Once more they were holding hands. Outside the waning yellow sunlight shone, and as it fought through the windows, it came to rest on Castiel's black-brown hair, enlightened it brightly. Castiel had turned his head to Dean, and they shared a long, caring look. Castiel's blue irises cut right through Dean, made it difficult to breathe and to think clearly.

He had just told him about the time Sam had left for college, how it had drifted him, John and Sam gruesomely apart. Castiel squeezed Dean's hand sympathetically over and over again. It made Dean's head swim, and though it felt like someone had pressed a dowel into his heart, he felt bitter-sweetly happy. He even managed to smile tentatively when he lost himself in Castiel's soft countenance. With him, it was easy to speak about the things which bothered him – he didn't have to fear his rejection, his judgement or tactless words. Castiel understood, and Dean felt as if he was sharing his pain willingly, because it meant he got to know Dean better.

"It's a shame, we were just starting to be a family again, and even Sammy and dad were on good terms with each other. And then the, ugh, _accident _happened and he was put to death," Dean mumbled thoughtfully. He gnawed at his bottom lip for a second, rage and restlessness increased within him.

"I need to find the son of a bitch who's to blame for this. I need to have my revenge," he growled then, feeling Castiel's hand flinch in his. When he met his eyes again, he saw the startled expression in them, how they were slightly widened. Castiel's mouth stood agape and he regarded Dean with a concerned demeanour. Only then did Dean realize what he had said, how it must have sounded like and he groaned frustrated. He had said too much.

"Honestly, Dean. By this time I'm not even sure what you're doing for a living. My first thought was you're a Mafiosi, then I thought you're a successful drug or arms dealer. Now I'm assuming you're either a serial killer or a bounty hunter. None of them sound too promising," Castiel joked dryly, a fragile smile painted to his gorgeous lips – but deadly coldness refracted in his light blue eyes, and it made Dean's flesh crawl in awe.

"No, Cas, I'm not like that. I can't really talk about it with anyone, but I hate lying to you. Let's just say I'm working in a secret association, but you've got to believe me – I'm one of the good guys. I've done things I'm not proud of, but at the end of the day, people call me and my brother when they're in trouble," Dean clarified breathlessly, and something softened in Castiel's eyes. His smile became broader, more honest, and he squeezed Dean's hand tightly. His reaction soothed Dean's nerves, warmth spread in his stomach. Affection burnt in his heart as he responded to Castiel's grip as their fingers intertwined even further.

"I believe you, Dean. It's not important, I feel like you're a good guy. I feel like I know you..." Castiel said quietly, his voice was barely a whisper. Dean's heart skipped a beat, his breathing stopped for a second. Suddenly, Castiel laughed lightly, and Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. He smiled, unable to withstand responding to Castiel's beautiful, laughing face. "What is it?" he asked and Castiel grinned and wagged his head dismissively.

"Nothing, all this talk about serial killers just reminded me of a silly poem my mother used to recite," Castiel replied. Dean grinned, glad the atmosphere changed its course into an animated conversation, which was less troubled and gloomy.

"Let's hear it," he demanded with a toothy grin. Castiel rolled over on his side and rested his head on his hand. His other grasped Dean's unhesitatingly and their fingers slid together, his eyes never leaving Dean's. Dean marvelled at the bright, vivid sparkle ignited in Castiel's eyes and how they smiled at each other lovingly.

"The grave's a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace," Castiel recited with a grin, and Dean couldn't help but laugh. "It's actually a lecherous poem, you know? Written by a man to convince his mistress to seize the day and to get on with their relationship. I mean, come on, _Let us roll all our strength and all our sweetness up into one ball?_" Castiel explained, they were both still smiling amusedly.

"Well, I guess it was their way of saying 'Can I buy you a drink?' or 'Your place or mine?'" Dean scoffed. He drank in the tender look Castiel gave him; he inhaled a shaky breath when Castiel squeezed his hand lightly.

"Have you heard any nice verses this week?" Castiel asked, his voice low and trembling as Dean pressed his hand firmly in return, as if to show him he wasn't going to let go. In his head a poem appeared, especially one line he thought he could identify with perfectly. His eyes remained on Castiel's all the while he spoke; he couldn't stop getting lost in the lavender-blue colour.

"I who was fearless so timid have grown, all that was eagle has turned into dove", he recited; all the while his heart roared loudly within him, he felt the strong rush of blood in his cheeks. Did Castiel know what he implied with these words? Did he understand? The sunlight refracted in Castiel's gorgeous eyes, and the affectionate smile crawling to his lips touched Dean severely. Here he was, reciting poetry and holding hands with his therapist – he didn't think of monsters, killings, weapons or what he owed to his family. All he could think of was the sensation of Castiel's warm palm pressed against his, how they regarded each other with fascination in their eyes, how time stood still for the two of them. He watched Castiel's chest move with every breath, he absorbed every millimetre of tanned, rosy, exposed skin of his body. Desire pumped within Dean's veins, and he was only seconds away from losing his inhibitions. The way Castiel bit his bottom lip thoughtfully caused a scorching hot, liquid fire washing through Dean's abdomen. What would he have given to kiss those lips in this moment? The alarm bells rang shrilly in his head, became a loud roar; the echo of Sam's words were omnipresent, weighed heavily on Dean's heart.

"I should really bring you one of those books of my mother's poem collection. I think you'll like it," Castiel stated all at once, forcing Dean back to reality, far away from his pleasant phantasms.

"Cas, that's very kind of you, but I can't accept the offer, it were your mother's books and-," he contradicted, but Castiel grinned widely and interrupted him.

"I won't take no as an answer. Come on, they're only gathering dust at my place. I bet my mother didn't want that, she would have been happy if someone read them." Dean contemplated Castiel's words for a moment, and then he nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Cas. Oh, by the way, I'm getting the cast off tomorrow," he said, beaming with delight. The ward physician had informed him he would get a metallic support bandage instead, but it was a substantial progress for Dean's healing process. It meant he would soon learn to use his leg again; he would be able to put weight on it and be more flexible. Castiel sat up all at once, excitement appeared in his eyes.

"That's great! That means we can pretty soon start with the water gym," he rejoiced, smiling brightly. Dean sat up as well, a grim frown placed on his forehead.

"What do you mean with 'water gym'? Cas, I'm not doing aqua aerobics, I'm not an old, overweight lady! And how the hell am I supposed to _not drown_? I can't swim with one leg!" he argued, not too fond of the idea of doing weird motions in the water and making a fool out of himself. Castiel bent forward, a cheeky grin sticking to his lips, and Dean growled inwardly – how could he deny him anything when he looked so enchanting, so convincing?

"I tell you what: Tomorrow I'll come around and give you that book I talked about. And then we'll give the water gym a try, alright? We could go to the pool by late evening, it's always empty then. And, no worries, I'll make sure you won't drown. It's a little difficult to hide water corpses in here," Castiel said kindly, and Dean laughed a little. How the hell was he going to survive that? Seeing Castiel in the swimming pool, probably only in bathing trunks? His mouth watered at the mere idea, lust arose within him. He was almost sure he saw how dilated Castiel's eyes had become, maybe he was thinking the same, if the way he contemplated him with burning, blushed cheeks was any indication. Flustered Dean scratched his head and nodded, his head was overflowed with too many, confusing emotions.

"Yeah, alright. You better make sure I won't die, though," he joked. He recognized the cheerful expression in Castiel's light blue irises, and now he was certain his eyes were _very _dilated. His gaze darted over Castiel's fine face, and Dean felt his fingers twitch restlessly, about to grab him and press their lips together. His imagination ran wild; he pictured the sensual plump bottom lip with water drops on it, glistening seductively. What would Castiel look like underneath those layers of clothes? Dean thought he could already envision his strong biceps, his slim sides, and his protruding hipbones. His lean muscular torso... It was a dangerous territory he was stepping into, but he couldn't help it – he was mesmerized by Castiel's being, he was so damn attractive, so bewitching... Dean knew he was lost, he was absolutely lost. What had he gotten himself into?

…

The next day Dean's plaster cast was sawed through, and Dean's long-missed calf appeared in his sight again. The limb looked pale and a little dented compared to the other one. He watched the doctor grasping his calf (he still couldn't move it on his own, just his upper thigh), it looked and felt a little dead. The doctor turned it in his hands to apply the metallic bandage; it had little screws to tighten or loosen it and Dean listened attentively when he was informed how to undo it in case of need. Since it was water-proof he doubted that would ever happen.

He was amazed at the huge stitches on the backside of his calf, a leftover of his operation. Two long, thin lines ran along his calf, deep red and purple, the flesh was still healing. When he was left alone again, he touched the maimed area cautiously, letting his fingertips glide over the protruding seams. It felt weird, and now that he saw the damage on his body, he understood Castiel's chiding words better – that it would take some time for his body to heal, that it was not an insignificant injury he had received.

Still, only four weeks of his stay here were left... when they released him, would he be able to walk on his own again as if nothing had happened? Could he drive his car again? Dean doubted it, he remembered what the doctor in the hospital had said: that it took up to four months until he could use his leg normally again. Extremely sad he leaned back in bed and tried to imagine the sound of the Impala – her roar, the constant noise of the street underneath the tires... He missed crossing the country; he missed the weight of the steering wheel in his hands, the control over the machine. He missed the freedom he had, to go where he wanted to – and to know Sam was safe because he was right there with him.

Worse than these thoughts were waking dreams about Castiel... Dean couldn't refrain from imagining a life with him, travelling with him and Sam through the states, from case to case. When he closed his eyes, he could see Castiel's beaming smile in the rear-view mirror or how he would sight the passing landscape with a melancholic expression in his eyes. Just the dream about this made Dean impossibly happy, though he knew it could never come to life. He couldn't stay here, and he couldn't take Castiel with him – both options were too risky, either for his own heart or Castiel's safety. He grimaced as he tried to distract himself from these heavy musings. Why was he punished with his longings throughout his whole life? Why did he have to yearn for Castiel, someone he couldn't have? It just wasn't fair...

**TBC**

Someone said "hunter vs. apple-pie life" and I think this sums this chapter up rather well… x3

Please let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

Hello sweeties! Thank you all for your lovely reviews on the last chapter x3 I have this weird dogma, to have at least 6 chapters stashed in order to continue updating regularly... currently I'm at the end of chapter 17, but, oh well... the third update this week! I am so excited to read your thoughts on this... the rating... goes... up x3 Alas! This chapter is not beta-read as well, but I proofread it sternly!

**Chapter 10**

It was half past nine on this Saturday evening, and Dean thought he would have to die of boredom after all. He lay in bed and waited for Castiel's appearance; he tried to read a book but he couldn't exactly concentrate on the lengthy sentences in front of his eyes. Too often his eyes fled to the clock on the nightstand – he wondered if Castiel would show up at all. He had said he would come around in the evening, but they hadn't arranged a specific time. The whole day through Dean had felt fidgety, he couldn't stop thinking about Castiel only in bathing trunks. An impenetrable cloud of infatuation and anxiety dwelled in his stomach, as heavy as a rock. His heart hammered constantly in his chest, all excited and nervous at the same time. It reminded him of the feeling he had had when he was about to have his first time with a girl many, many years ago. The fear to mess it up, to be rejected, or to misinterpret the other's behaviour... It was simply unnerving. He _wanted _Castiel to like him, he wanted him to hunger for him in the same frantic manner.

What was the point of all those tiny caresses, the way Castiel had ardently hugged him, how their fingers found together time and again? What was the point of all those intimate looks, those private conversations, reciting poetry and behaving absolutely sappy in his company? It had to mean they shared something precious, it had to lead to _something _somehow. At least Dean hoped that, despite all doubts, despite every practical reason.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Castiel finally knocked on his opened door, a mellow smile gracing his rosy, plump lips. He was fully dressed, and the reddened cheeks and his ruffled hair showed Dean he had just returned to the rehab-center from a chilly spring night. Dean's bad mood instantly vanished and he returned the smile affectionately. Castiel walked inside and sat down beside Dean. He eyed the new, metallic bandage sceptically, his fingers traced the rods carefully. Dean observed his calm features, his heart thudded slowly now and his breathing had become erratic – Castiel's sudden nearness, his beguiling scent, the tiny smile lingering on his voluptuous mouth... It was all Dean had wished for within the last hours...

"Looks good. Better than the cast," Castiel said encouragingly, then he looked up and met Dean's eyes with a cheeky smirk. He took the book Dean had failed to read confidently out of Dean's hands, their fingers were lightly touching. Then he gave Dean another heavy book, one he had hidden in his jacket pocket. Fascinated Dean flipped through the pages, he estimated there were at least three hundred poems in that book, a little treasure.

"Th-thank you," he stuttered, unable to tear his eyes away from the pages. Castiel got up, the mattress rose up as his body weight left it. He took one of Dean's hand and held it loosely in his, looking down at him with a tender smile – Dean had no choice but to let his gaze roam over Castiel's beautiful, tranquil features. He looked ethereal, inhumanely handsome.

"Why don't you get changed and meet me in the basement? I'll be in the pool waiting for you," Castiel suggested quietly. His low voice caused goosebumps on Dean's skin, made him light-headed and entranced. He nodded, absolutely dumbstruck, and Castiel squeezed his hand, then he let go and was gone as quickly as he had come.

…

Dean felt like a sex offender when he made his way to the basement, only dressed in his swimming trunks and a bathrobe to veil his body. It was strenuous to walk with the crutches, and he was a little out of breath when he finally came to the indoor swimming bath. Castiel had been right: he had met no one on his way here, and the silence welcoming him made him understand he and Castiel would be alone. The dim, turquoise light quavered oddly against the tiled walls, the hall was spacious and filled with a huge, square pool. Dean saw Castiel swimming in the water, a lonesome figure in the surrounding, light blue. He must have noticed Dean standing awkwardly near the lowered entrance to the pool, a marbled staircase. Castiel waded through the water, a bright smile on his lips, and Dean simply lost it as Castiel emerged from the depths and came to him.

Thousand shiny beads trailed down his well-defined chest. Small rivulets were traveling down over Castiel's pecs, his slim torso, his flat, toned stomach. Every sensible thought left Dean, he was barely aware his jaw dropped. Castiel's sharp, bulging hipbones, his cute bellybutton, the small waist... a dark line of his happy trail disappeared where his wet, black bathing trunks begun. Dean didn't know where to look his fill, there were so many body parts he found admiring, arousing.

Absentmindedly he slowly doffed his bathrobe and placed it over the nearby metall pole, he let his crutches fall down to the ground with a little thud. He was painfully conscious of his own body, only dressed in his dark-blue bathing trunks as well, and though he had never been ashamed of his appearance, he couldn't help but feel a little floppy compared to his therapist's taut body. Castiel was standing in front of him now, the water was waist-high. He looked as gorgeous as Dean had imagined, good enough to eat. Dean felt wobbly, his knees suddenly failed to support his body weight. Carefully he stepped into the water, holding on to the banister rail – he felt Castiel's attentive eyes on him, watching his every tentative move. Those eyes were consuming him, their gaze left a raw fire burning fiercely on Dean's skin. When Dean was finally in the water, Castiel stood before him and they smiled hesitantly at each other.

"So, what now, oh great one? I'm in the water, but I can't swim, I can barely move forward," Dean sulked. Castiel rolled his eyes over-dramatically, then he approached Dean even further, there was barely a hand's breadth space between their bodies. With widened eyes Dean watched him, how close he was. Aghast he saw Castiel bent slightly, then there was an arm around Dean's ribs, the other was placed between the bend of his knees – in an instant Castiel had uplifted him with his strong arms, carrying Dean bridal style. Naturally Dean squirmed and writhed in Castiel's arms, he went as red as a beet, he could feel the heat in his cheeks. Castiel only laughed heartily and held Dean tighter, and eventually Dean laughed too, though he kept struggling for freedom.

"Cas, let me down, you son of a bitch! I'm not a girl!" he protested, though he still chuckled. He regarded Castiel's quirky grin, the amusement dancing in his blue irises, and suddenly, Dean was at ease, he even found it somewhat comfortable in Castiel's grip, and he stopped fighting. A huge lump corded up his throat; pleasure, close to pain, lingered inside of him, it was impossible to breathe consistently. Dean gulped heavily, trying to erase the pleasure-pain constricting his airways – yet he could not when he caught Castiel's eyes remaining on his steadily, seemingly unperturbed and ignorant to Dean's inner turmoil. Castiel was the source for that exploding frenzy and the excitement and agitation that came along with it.

"No, but you don't want to drown, and this is how we do it," Castiel insisted, then he waded through the water once more, with Dean in his arms. Their eyes were glued to one another, and Dean was overwhelmed with the stunning beauty of Castiel's eyes beholding him with affection. The shimmering lights, along with the restless movement in the water, underlined the unique colour of his irises, and they contained a tender, fond hunch as Castiel looked deeply into Dean's eyes. Dean felt as if in a dream, he could sense Castiel's naked, wet skin against his ribcage and hip. His strong, slender fingers digging into the flesh of his side and knee, as he held him pressed against him with gentle force. The fluency of the lukewarm water was all around them, Dean enjoyed the weightlessness, which was the usual side effect of being in a swimming pool. He was absolutely astonished with Castiel's self-assured demeanour, how he held him in his arms and walked with him through the shallower parts of the water, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dean knew they weren't exactly training, but he shut his mouth and just enjoyed to feel Castiel this intimately and to feel so blithe in the water's soothing embrace. It didn't take long, five minutes at the maximum, and Castiel was strolling to the edge of the pool, with Dean in his arms. Dizziness took possession of Dean, when Castiel maneuvered him, so that he found himself shoved against the tiled wall with his back – all at once, Castiel grabbed his upper thighs and Dean wrapped them around Castiel's hips in an unspoken understanding between them. So he hadn't been mistaken about the sexual tension lingering in the air, Dean thought flustered. His heart leapt into his throat when he lost himself in Castiel's eyes penetrating his – he looked astounding, fierce, demanding. By itself Dean's arms came around Castiel's boney shoulders and his bare neck and he pulled him closer, towards him. The littlest smile tugged at Castiel's lips, and Dean forgot to breathe, his heart stopped beating, as he watched Castiel's lids shut slowly. He drew him in and welcomed him as their lips met shyly, gingerly.

For a gut-wrenching moment they held still, their lips idly pressed together. Then they leapt at each other unrestrainedly and they kissed fervently, with endless devotion. Castiel's lips were softer than Dean would have thought, they fit perfectly to his. He loved how Castiel applied the right amount of pressure, how he kissed Dean breathless, it blew him right away. His whole body felt like jelly, a blazing fire was lit in his abdomen. He perceived Castiel's hips shifting, how he rutted his pelvis against Dean's. A whole body shudder overwhelmed Dean and he couldn't stop but tremble against Castiel's figure nervously, deeply aroused– Castiel was all wet and lithe and muscular, and oh so perfectly warm and inviting.

Their lips let go of one another, they panted swiftly against their mouths. Through half-closed eyes Dean watched Castiel observing him, his eyes were dark and hooded with lust. Again their mouths crushed together, Dean's fingers curled into the dark strands of Castiel's hair, he clutched his scalp forcefully and pressed their lips harder together. Castiel's hands framed Dean's face lovingly, he made Dean tilt his head to deepen their kisses. Dean complied to Castiel's lead and opened his mouth a little, welcoming Castiel's tongue. When it touched Dean's tongue, a hot flash rumbled through Dean, he became promptly rigid, an aroused moan left him. Castiel's French kisses were painfully skilled, it made Dean all tingly inside, and he responded with the same desperate desire, tugging at Castiel's hair.

It scared Dean, how easily he lost every sensible thought whenever he kissed Castiel's compliant, plump lips. What were they even doing? He knew he shouldn't kiss Castiel, he knew he shouldn't exchange these frantic fondlings with him – there were enough reasons for Dean to stay away from Castiel, as far as he possibly could. Dean knew all of that, and still he couldn't make himself care. It simply felt too good to be touched and possessed by the other man, to feel the same ecstatic lust boiling between them, mirrored in every movement.

Once the first initial shock had passed their mouths paused their kisses, and Dean let his hands wander to Castiel's jaw and cheek unabashedly. They both huffed and puffed, overwhelmed with the sudden outburst of their cravings; Dean kept his lips close to Castiel's as he opened his eyes and drowned in the dilated, wild eyes darting over his face in amazement. How could Castiel make him feel so important, so remarkable, due to an appreciative glance, his sweetest smile? Dean nipped at Castiel's bottom lip, his eyes resting on Castiel's boldly. He was overjoyed to hear a low moan from the other man, how Castiel's lids fluttered shut, he seemed overpowered with yearning.

Incredible heat streamed through Dean's lower stomach, he realized he was growing hard. He could already sense the thick, hard outline of Castiel's erection pressed against him. Dean couldn't control it as he groaned frantically and rotated his hips in small circles, sliding against Castiel's bulge seductively.

"Oh God, Cas," he whispered against the wet, luscious mouth and Castiel kissed him passionately, bruising Dean's lips with his own. Breathlessly they let go of one another, underneath the water Castiel's hand seized Dean's hip and he replied to Dean's movements and pushed his pelvis forward, meeting Dean's eager thrusts as he kept Dean in place, close to his overexcited crotch.

"I know," Cas sighed, leaving sublte, airy, open-mouthed kisses on Dean's jaw and neck, working his way down.

"I know, I want you too," he spoke under his breath, making Dean harden even more. He was lolling in Castiel's arms as he rode his eager thrusts, searching for more, wonderful friction. Their erect cocks touched through the thin texture of their bathing trunks, slid together, and a hot shiver ran down Dean's spine. He was twitching with oversensitivity when Castiel bit into the crook of his neck and grinded against his throbbing length; his blunt fingernails scraped over Castiel's broad shoulders, his muscular, firm back, trying to find some hold. The water sloshed out of the basin as they moved together, again and again their mouths were melting together in heady, exasperated kisses. Suddenly Castiel stopped, his hands had enclosed Dean's face. They were both breathless and painfully hard, Dean could feel himself squirm and pulsate against Castiel's erection. Castiel rested his forehead against Dean's and kissed his lips fleetingly, then he held still and Dean ceased stirring too. He was too entranced with the manner with which Castiel held his cheeks, how he pressed his forehead against Dean's desperately.

"Dean, don't make me come in here," Castiel moaned against Dean's mouth, he could feel the little wafts of air of every word touching his bottom lip; his abdomen convulsed, he was shaking from head to toe with arousal. What a silly request, how could they stop now? Now that their chests were hotly conjoined, now that they were both hard and filled with pent-up, sexual ecstasy? In the background of his awareness Dean remembered the confession Castiel had made a week ago – that he wanted his next intercourse with someone to matter; and who was Dean to bereave him of that? He nodded wordlessly and wrapped his arms around Castiel's neck again. He tried to come down from this mind-blowing exhilaration when Castiel engulfed him in a hug too – his thighs still enveloped Castiel's waist, but neither of them seemed to mind. They held on to each other tightly; Dean could feel Castiel's wet, moist breath bedewing the skin of his neck and he snuggled into him and kissed his shoulder coyly. This felt good, regardless every reason, Dean thought. This felt homely, thrilling, intimate, just _right._

Despite all the care taken they couldn't withstand touching the other man; Dean's hands groped Castiel's shoulders, back and firm, round butt unabashedly, and Castiel's fingers stroked Dean's sides and hips slowly, torturously. They were as closely compressed as physically possible, and their restrained caresses and touches weren't as chaste as needed. It took a while until they managed to get rid of their erections; they kissed less but stroked each other instead – however, whenever their lips collided, the fire and passion were instantly rekindled. Dean couldn't remember having felt this way before, as he clung to Castiel's body and enjoyed his little, tender fondlings. It felt as if he was burning alive, like some beast tore his chest up – and yet it felt so good, so perfect... Usually it had never been complicated – when he wanted sex, he normally found a willing partner, they got on with it and then the whole show was over. With Castiel, things were different, absurdly different even. He was content do accept what Castiel was willing to give him and to return as much; for the first time ever Dean had found someone who didn't go to bed with him instantly, and he was ready to _wait_, even if that meant he would never sleep with Castiel.

Minutes passed, it was hard to say how many – it seemed like eons and seconds simultaneously. They stood in the lukewarm water in a motionless embrace, as if time had come to a standstill. Dean had his cheek pillowed on Castiel's shoulder lazily, his arms and legs were around the therapist's body; around them, the water began to feel cold, only their conjoined chests and bellies provided much needed warmth. Dean felt Castiel's fingers sift through his hair endlessly, sometimes the other man left innocent kisses on his bare neck. All in all Dean felt calm, incredibly calm and safe in those arms; he never wanted to let go, he never wanted to miss this feeling or Castiel's nearness. After a while it became too uncomfortable though, their fingertips were crinkly and their body temperatures had dropped. So Castiel retreated a little from the pool's edge and wrapped his arms around Dean's waistline as well; he held him close and waded with him through the water, towards the marbled stairs. Dean lowered his sane leg as soon as they reached the stairway. He was adamant to climb the stairs on his own, and while he made his demanding journey to dry land, he felt Castiel's supporting palm on the small of his back.

When they emerged and the cooling draught hit their wet skin, Dean began to shiver, his teeth chattered unceremoniously. Castiel walked to a nearby wooden bench and grabbed a huge bathing towel. He winded it around Dean's shoulders with a tender smile, while Dean stood on one leg, quavering at the sudden coldness. The towel around him felt warm and nice, and Castiel started toweling his arms and torso agilely – all the while his eyes rested on Dean's, and Dean had to smile fondly as he detected the mirthful gleam in Castiel's irises. It was such a heart-wrenching, kind gesture of Castiel to dry him... Dean's body relaxed immensely when Castiel gave him his bathrobe and as he cloaked himself in it.

He couldn't avert his glance when Castiel started toweling himself too with experienced, quick motions. Dean saw endless expanses of tanned, however still rosy skin, as well as trim muscles, slim flesh and prominent bones on Castiel's hips, his shoulders... It was a fascinating sight; Dean felt his thunderous heartbeats gaining speed the longer he let his eyes roam over Castiel's intriguing body – he already missed to touch his body and to be touched by him in return. When Castiel was done and had donned a bathrobe too, he approached Dean with an unreadable smile on his lips; he leaned forward, his lids shut sensually slowly, then he kissed Dean's compliant mouth harshly, Dean responded to the kiss eagerly. He was about to let his fingers glide into Castiel's hair and to pull him closer, but in that moment, Castiel let go and breathed against Dean's kiss-wet lips hotly. A smashing intensity burnt in Castiel's blue globes as they beheld Dean, making Dean's mouth run dry, his insides all fickle and jumpy. Castiel intertwined his fingers gently with Dean's blindly, his eyes holding Dean's captive effortlessly.

"Come on, I'll walk you to your room," Castiel said softly, and Dean nodded, though he felt not too overly excited to be without Castiel's company so soon again.

…

When they reached Dean's room and when Castiel shut the door behind them silently, Dean was glad to understand Castiel wasn't leaving him straight away. Dean sat down on his bed with a groan and placed the crutches aside – he would have to get changed soon, unless he wanted to fall asleep in his wet bathing trunks; the bath robe was already dank, but at the moment, he couldn't care less about it. His limbs felt heavy, his body worn out, and he was glad he wasn't freezing anymore. The warm bedsheets seductively near at hand, Dean had half a mind to lie down properly. Only the bedside lamp brought some light into the surrounding darkness. Dean was hypnotized when he saw the light beams refract in Castiel's dilated eyes, as the dark-haired man walked up to him, looking enchantingly beautiful.

Dean took a sharp inhale of surprise when Castiel got down on his knees and knelt in front of him. He was looking up into Dean's eyes resolutely and placed two warm palms on Dean's half-dressed upper thighs nonchalantly. Dean felt their warmth sift through his flesh, the soft skin of Castiel's fingertips tingled lightly. Their mutual gazes continued for a few lengthy moments, until slowly a little smile crawled to Castiel's lips, making Dean smile as well. Castiel moved forward and uplifted his head, a pained sensuality veiled his features – it struck Dean hard to see the devotion besieging Castiel's astounding face and how he shut his lids and approached Dean's mouth determinately. Dean realised he was to blame for that notion of lust and yearning growing inside his therapist, and something akin to pride and compassion bloomed in Dean's chest. He couldn't stand seeing Castiel so obviously torn in two. Dean lost every sensible thought when he saw Castiel parted his lips slightly, in anticipation of Dean's answering mouth.

Possessiveness rattled through Dean and blurred everything else, he only had eyes for Castiel, on his knees, between Dean's legs – he tilted his head and closed the gruesome gap between them, placing his lips chastely on Castiel's. They were warm and dry and tasted sweet, as sweet as maple syrup and pancakes on a lazy sunny morning, and the soapy, clean smell of Castiel's body, combined with the waves of his body heat embracing Dean, made Dean's head swim vigorously. He kissed Castiel intensely, he already loved the sensation of his full, slightly chapped lips crushing against his with the right amount of pressure and a healthy amount of teasing cleverness. How Castiel sucked at his bottom lip for example, or how he traced his tongue torturously slowly over the seams of Dean's mouth, only to dive between Dean's lips and ravage his mouth with skilled French kisses...

Things evolved rapidly then – before Dean knew it, one of his hands had fisted the lapels of Castiel's gown and pulled him nearer, his other fingers dug vehemently into Castiel's clothed shoulder. Castiel's warm slender fingers went stray in Dean's slightly overgrown hair, tugging at it forcefully to slam their skulls together; their foreheads touched, and whenever they stopped kissing to regain some breath, they stayed in this position, keeping as much of the proximity as possible. They were making out, and it was wonderful – calming and exciting at the same time. It took Dean's mind off things, and he wished it could always be so easy to lose himself in another person. Dean felt giddy after a while, he was inebriated with Castiel's kisses, his sweet, benign caresses. He hungered for more, but yet, this was already enough. It was unbelievably satisfying to forget himself and his complicated life in Castiel's warmth, his onslaught on Dean's lips, the shaking exhales, which filled the room. Finally they let go and Castiel stood up with a coy grin. Dean recognized Castiel's lips were deep red and swollen, they looked fuller and even more tempting and he groaned quietly as he realized he was to blame for the state of those kissable, adorable lips. He missed them already, his own lips vibrated with the aftershocks of Castiel's wild kisses.

"Dean, I've got to go. It's close to ten and the night watch will be here soon", Castiel said breathlessly – his voice sounded hoarse and husky; it made Dean's flesh crawl, a hot shudder ran down his spine. He nodded stupidly, not trusting his voice to sound less croaky or high-pitched. Castiel came nearer once more, he stroked through Dean's hair cautiously, his eyes clinging to Dean's.

"When will I see you again?" Dean gasped out, all voiceless and quiet, it was barely a whisper. His heart dropped into his gut, a storm of various untaimed emotions swirled through his brain. God, had he really asked that? He sounded like a lovesick puppy, and he hated that – but he _needed _to see Castiel again. He wanted this affinity, he couldn't help but feel close to Castiel at all manner of levels. The gleeful smile creeping on Castiel's mouth spoke volumes, and in the next second, Dean found himself embraced by Castiel, the therapist's arms around his shoulder, and Dean's forehead pressed cosily against Castiel's dressed torso. He sighed and enjoyed how Castiel's hands stroked along his back recurringly. It felt so intimate, as if they knew each other for years – in this peaceful moment, Dean had no doubts, no fears, he just merged in Castiel's caresses.

"You can come around tomorrow after lunch, if you like. You know now where I live..." Castiel suggested, and Dean could hear the smile within his words. He nodded wordlessly and allowed their bodies to morph into one for a second longer, enjoying the sensation of another body around his. When they let go at last, Castiel bent down and kissed Dean's lips sweetly, briefly. He could feel the smile on Castiel's lips as their lips moved together. There were some more last kisses, until Castiel finally pulled away and let his thumb brush over Dean's bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Goodnight," Castiel cooed. Dean gulped heavily, his throat still ached due to the painful and marvelous emotions coiling inside of him. He watched Castiel open the door and turning around once more to give him a gentle smile.

"Night, Cas," he said flabbergasted; then the dark-haired man was gone, and Dean was left with his confusing thoughts, amazed at himself and the events of this evening.

**TBC**

Ugh, so... what do you think? I'm a little in love with Castiel in this chapter... x3


	11. Chapter 11

Hello darlings! How is everyone? Unimportant thing about me – I went without sweets from Monday on and I'm a sugar-addict, so that was rather rough. Thank God I'm back to more sugar hehe...! Thanks again for your lovely feedback x) Especially you, Angelphoenixwings14 – my, my! You caught up very quickly! I've seen this story gained some followers recently, maybe they want to tell me their opinion too? =) Again, this chapter is not beta-read (sorry!) but I proofread it en détail my darlings (if you find some mistakes just let me know and I'll fix them!)... I hope I can smooth-talk one of my not so official but several beta readers to look over the next chapters...! Uhm... yeah... so... back to our cutie-pies x3

**Chapter 11**

Dean had scarfed his food down in record time, eager to get over and done with lunch. He wanted to see Castiel as soon as possible again, the whole Sunday through his chest had felt uptight, his head heavy with thoughts. It felt confining to stay in the rehab-center – outside the spring sun was shining, donating rich, yellow light to the trees and blooming flowers, and Dean wished he could feel the mild wind on his skin. This place seemed like a morgue; he needed to get out and be with Cas again, he needed to live a little. Ash and Garth were making fun of him for his odd behaviour, but he just grinned cheekily at them, chewing his meal carelessly. He had told them he had a date, and for that he had received impressed whistling and thousand nosy questions, though he didn't answer them one of course. They were still joking about him when he got up and hobbled away with his crutches, grinning from ear to ear.

He limped through the crowded park. A dozen of families were enjoying the fine, warm weather and had picnics, multi-coloured blankets were spread out on the lush grass. The pleasant climate allowed Dean to wear only a black T-shirt and jeans. He loved to feel the sun's tingling rays blanketing the skin of his forearms. Above him Dean heard the canopies rustling in the wind, and he felt a strange lust for living rising within him. Everything around him grew and thrived, the world seemed whitewashed, newly born, as if everyone had been given a second chance to start again. He wondered where this change of mind had come from. Rarely he had felt that optimistic; in the light of his experiences, it wasn't surprising that Dean was mostly a frustrated, sorrowful young man, whose discontent manifested in sarcasm or anger. However, the past two weeks had shown him that sometimes good things did happen. He had met Castiel, and for that he was grateful; and though he missed Sam terribly, it felt slackening to let go of the hunter's life for a short period of time.

When Castiel opened his apartment door, Dean was completely taken aback – beads of sweat were on Castiel's forehead and temples, his dark hair was damp and he appearead a little out of breath. He wore black linen pants and a light blue tunic, the texture was soaked through with perspiration. Dean frowned and greeted Castiel with a baffled, breathless "Hi, Cas". Their eyes met and Castiel smiled gently at him and opened the door further to let Dean inside. Dean felt too uncertain about their relationship to lean forward and demand a kiss, but Castiel didn't seem to mind or notice.

"Hi, Dean. Sorry, I just finished my workout. I didn't know when you would drop in... if you don't mind, I shower quickly, alright?" Castiel explained and shut the door behind Dean. When Dean walked past him he could sense the heat waves of Castiel's igneous body; he inhaled his rich, soapy scent deeply, it was intermingling with a harsh, but not unpleasant smell of Castiel's sweat – Dean's mouth watered unknowingly, his heart began a turbulent race in his chest as he devoured Castiel's appearance from head to toe. He looked unbearably seductive when he was wet through, when his torso was heaving with erratic breaths... His cheeks were slightly reddened, and his ruffled hair gave Dean all kind of inappropriate thoughts about bedrooms and exchanges of bodily fluids.

"What kind of sport do you engage in that makes you wear this weird hippie outfit?" Dean joked with a sly grin; he followed Castiel into the kitchen, and Castiel looked back with a wide smile and a fair shimmer appearing in his blue eyes.

"Wing Chun, it's a Chinese martial art. I bet you've seen it on TV at some point... you know, the _very _slow movements people do with their legs and arms, it's quite strenuous... Do you want some coffee?" Castiel chatted idly, already pottering around with his little coffee machine, his back turned towards Dean. Dean couldn't help but gape at Castiel's clothed back – he could see the fine outline of his spine and his slim sides, the sheer fabric of his tunic was a little bit transparent; it corded up Dean's throat to recognize the soft skin underneath. Liquid heat streamed through his lower body and he sat down awkwardly on a kitchen chair to control his abdomen's activities without prying eyes on him. The water rushed and cracked through the coffee brewer, the smell of strong coffee filled the room. It seemed domestic to Dean, to sit in Castiel's kitchen and to hear the sounds of normal lives.

"So that is what you're doing when you're not ensnaring patients?" Dean cheekily commented, finding his tongue again. Castiel turned around and leant back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He narrowed his eyes and if it hadn't been for the broad smile on his plump, rosy lips Dean would have thought Castiel wanted to upset him with an intimidating look.

"I don't ensnare anyone, they're willing and you know it," he retorted dryly, making Dean laugh briefly.

"Showoff," he teased and Castiel's grin widened. He busied himself with getting cups, milk and sugar, then he beheld Dean with an unreadable, tender smile for a moment.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, make yourself at home."

As his therapist walked to the kitchen door, Dean watched in silent terror how Castiel pulled his tunic over his head in a smooth, languid motion, revealing the backside of his taut upper body casually. He was being given a glorious moment to look his fill of those broad shoulders, his protruding shoulder blades, the little, hollow dip above his waist... how Castiel's muscles moved and flexed entrancingly, making Dean dumbstruck and overwhelmed with yearning. Daydreams came to his mind – how would it feel to let his tongue glide over those planes of flesh, to follow the trail of his spine? Would Castiel squirm and writhe underneath him? Would he sigh and moan and respond to Dean's bold tongue, would he lift his body to meet Dean's? Two blue gems suddenly crashed against his eyes, and hot flashes cut through his intestines when he saw a provoking, smug smile playing around Castiel's mouth. Castiel winked at him and left to shower and Dean felt as if someone had released him from a tight grip, he could breathe again. He sighed a wrecked sigh and buried his heated face in his hands. That son of a bitch knew exactly what he was doing to him...

Dean heard the roaring of the shower down the hall and helped himself with coffee; Castiel really didn't need a lot of time to shower and change his clothes, not even five minutes had elapsed when he returned to the kitchen with moist hair, dressed in comfortable-looking black slacks and a grey, close-fitting T-shirt. He poured himself some coffee as well and sat down opposite to Dean. Dean grinned when he watched Castiel putting an unhealthy amount of sugar cubes into the steaming liquid, along with some milk. Castiel caught his sceptical stare and narrowed his eyes threateningly again, making Dean laugh.

"What? I can't help it. I can't stand coffee without assistive equipment," he defended himself. Dean tried to wipe the sardonic grin from his lips, but he could not, so he drank his coffee silently and admired the view in front of him, how the daylight refracted in Castiel's endless, lavender-blue eyes.

"So, how was your day till now?" Castiel asked kindly, leaning forward on the table so that their faces were closer to one another. Dean cherished Castiel's attempt to make small talk; he usually had no difficulties with breaking the ice, but around Castiel, it was impossible to think straight and to keep his composure – so he was glad Castiel was taking the lead.

"Yeah, what do you think? Boring as every other day... I mean, I read some of the poems you brought me, and that was nice, and I talked a little with Ash and Garth... But apart from that, I fear I'll be losing my mind soon...I don't know what to do with myself," he wailed a bit, feeling Castiel's attentive, museful glance resting on him. He didn't want to sound like a spoiled brat, but his life here was so different, it was weird to get used to having time for himself. Sometimes it felt good to do nothing and to lay idly in bed, some other times his fingers were itching for something to do, something to kill or hunt. It made him restless.

"Well, what do you normally do when you have some spare time?" Castiel questioned friendly, sympathy resonating in his dark voice. Dean looked down and rotated the half-empty cup in his hands thoughtfully, biting down at his bottom lip. Sometimes he thought he was a shell for nothing but voidness, a carnal wrapper that contained no life. Regarding such questions he often felt like a robot which had no soul, which was just programmed to function as desired. And he had functioned all his life... There really hadn't been a choice to act in another way.

"That's the thing... Normally I don't really have spare time. My job is very consumptive of time... And when I'm done with a case, I'm mostly too knackered to do anything. I'm just glad when everybody's alive or when I can watch some crappy TV and have a beer or two before I fall asleep, you know?"

Castiel's hand reached out and enveloped Dean's, he let him take his fingers and they interwove together intimately. Comforting warmth spread inside of Dean's stomach as Castiel's thumb brushed over the back of his hand. He raised his eyes to Castiel's; something was stirred inside of him, clutched heavily at his heart, when he lost himself in the empathetic kind eyes beholding him steadily.

"That sounds rather unpleasant. Come on, there must have been something in your life you were passionate about, right? Like, some kind of hobby?" Castiel pressed forward, and Dean tried to think of all the pastimes he had had during the years. He shrugged unenthused and placed his other hand above Castiel's, squeezing it lightly.

"Hm, when I was little, I liked to play baseball. And during high school I was interested in playing accoustic guitar, that was kind of _the_ chick magnet thing back then," he said with a grin and Castiel chuckled; his fingers began kneading Dean's lovingly, and it motivated Dean to keep talking. "There were some other hobbies I pursued, but there was never enough time to elaborate on them. All my life we moved a lot, and there were other, more pressing matters I had to take care of."

"What kind of pressing matters?" Castiel asked breathlessly, rather intrigued, and Dean felt a shudder running down his back. He smiled sadly as the memories penetrated his mind - they were all he had left of his dad.

"Well, ugh, circuit training for example; or how to orientate yourself by stellar constellations when you're in the middle of nowhere, and other crap like that. You could drop me off in the deepest forest and I would know where to walk, how to find water and so on... Then I also did a lot of combat-training, I had to practice dealing with various weapons... So, uhm, that kind of was my childhood and my teenage years. Those things were more important than some stupid baseball games..." he confessed, feeling a lump of pain narrowing his throat. He had always tried so hard to make John proud of him, he had fulfilled his duties at all times... However, it had never been enough. And now John was gone, and all Dean had were his trained skills and some ugly memories about conflicting priorities. The grip of Castiel's hand around his tightened and when he met his eyes again, he saw worry flicker in them. He tried to get a hold of himself and dismiss the subject as beside the point. He inhaled deeply and laughed a little embarrassed.

"Whatever. That was then, and this is now. Tell me, what do _you_ do in your spare time apart from that wing-chicken-thingy?" he asked, wanting to distract the two of them from Dean's rather gloomy thoughts. Castiel smiled and scoffed a brief laugh.

"It's called Wing Chun, Dean," he corrected Dean calmly, though a wide grin stuck to his mouth and amusement shone brightly in his gaze. "I don't know, well, there's work, and I try to train a few times a week. Believe it or not, housekeeping is also time-consuming... Sometimes I read a book or watch TV, nothing too unusual I think... I let you know a secret, though," Castiel ended quietly, leaning more over the table towards Dean, a conspirational expression on his face as he continued kneading Dean's fingers affectionately. Dean felt his breathing hitch and he nodded eagerly, absorbing the mirthful glimmer playing in Castiel's eyes.

"I have a praticed hand when it comes to knives and carving wood, and whenever the mood strikes I carve, I don't know, all kinds of things. Animals, faces, figures... It never fails to calm me down, takes my mind off things... if you want to, I could show you some of the stuff I made," Castiel suggested, his cheeks went as red as a beet. Dean found it endearing. He had to stifle a laugh, because it sounded so nerdy that Castiel wanted to show him his 'carving collection', but Dean thought it was rather a lovely, unique hobby Castiel had. He could hardly wait to see how detailed or peculiar his style was, and so he cooed "that would be awesome", making Castiel smile happily.

They got up and strolled down the corridor, towards Castiel's bedroom, Dean recognized, and it made him all flustered inside. He almost choked on his own breaths as Castiel vanished in his bedroom, an odd, constricting sensation dwelt in his chest at the thought of following Castiel to such an intimate place. Once he stepped into the room, he saw the walls were ornated with a grey-blue wallpaper, in the middle stood a spacious bed; the only furniture apart from the bed was a waist-high, dark wooden dresser and a nightstand. On the walls were a few racks, and on them countless carved figures stood. Dean let his eyes roam over them in awe: The attention to detail was magnificent, automatically he stepped closer to the racks, feeling Castiel's eyes observing him all the while. He saw birds in all possible variations: Owls with spread wings, doves, eagles... Next to them there were a few sculptures of humans, some of them engulfed in an embrace, some of them huddled in desperate, forlorn positions – but all of them had no faces. Dean was certain he would never tire of looking at those carvings, but then he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

He turned around to Castiel, who beheld him with a sudden passion glowing in his eyes, and Dean understood him without a word being said. Castiel slung his arms around Dean's hips and drew him in; they both tensed up a little, their breaths briefly faltered, then their heads approached one another as if they were magnets seeking their fitting pole; Dean felt utterly stupefied when he closed his lids and felt Castiel's warm lips pressing against his demandingly. He answered to the kiss with the same fervent manner, delirious with joy to receive Castiel's kisses again. His fingers twitched agitatedly, he wanted to reach out and touch the other man, but his crutches hindered him. He pulled back and observed Castiel's dilated eyes, and when a cheeky smile appeared on the other man's lips, realisation dawned on him.

"Son of a bitch, that was a pretence! You just wanted to bring me to your bedroom!" he exclaimed in surprise that he had been tricked, and he watched how Castiel laughed heartily, laughter lines around his eyes; he could't help but laugh too – that smart bastard! Castiel's hands wandered underneath the hem of Dean's T-shirt, he could feel the warm, nimble fingers stroking over his stomach hungrily, seeking contact. Castiel's eyes darkened with each passing second, he kissed Dean's lips briefly, then he grabbed Dean's pelvis forcefully and pressed him flush against his. Dean saw Castiel's cheeks were tinted into a deep red, he looked stunningly beautiful and sexy at the same time. He sensed the hot, shaky exhales fanning against his agape lips, his whole body reacted to Castiel intensely.

"Don't tell me it bothers you," Castiel rasped in a husky voice, making Dean's flesh crawl easily. He gulped heavily, hypnotized by the man in front of him, his hands roaming over his torso greedily. In an instant Dean let his crutches fall without hesitation, he shifted his body weight on his sane leg and allowed his hands to frame Castiel's heated face. Castiel's eyes became glassy, shuddering breaths came over his lips, and before Dean knew what was happening Castiel's fingernails dug into the flesh of his hips – he turned him around in his arms and they were falling on Castiel's bed clumsily. Dean felt the weight of Castiel's lithe body moving on him, how the other man shifted and wrapped his legs around his hips. Automatically Dean's hands framed the other's waist, slid underneath his shirt, his fingertips stroked over the protruding, sharp hipbones slowly. He looked up into Castiel's face hovering closely above his; it felt cathartic to drown in his eyes. And though Dean felt nervous and almost afraid, as befuddled as he hadn't felt in ages, he couldn't help but hunger for more, even if that meant it would wreck him.

His heart leapt into his throat, his whole body tingled, as Castiel bent down and kissed him feverishly, pressing his head into the yielding mattress. His hands clung to Castiel's shoulders, his head was spinning madly, his stomach turned over, as he responded to his kisses. Their sensitive lips brushed over one another, he could feel Castiel's trembling breaths on his cheeks. Before he knew it, Dean fisted his hair harshly and pulled him closer, and they got lost in devoted kisses, untamed wildness tugged at them as their tongues wrestled sensually slowly with each other. Their hands begun to roam all over their bodies, enjoying the sensation of flexing muscles and warm flesh. When they finally parted, Castiel sat up on Dean's lap. Dean saw his eyes were hooded with lust, containing a blazing wildfire of desire as they beheld Dean pensively. He panted swiftly, his chest was heaving; Dean had tousled his hair unknowingly, it made him think how fierce Castiel appeared, it suited him. Hot tidal waves of arousal splashed over Dean, every inch of his body burnt with a brutish force, commanding him to bruise those soft, plump lips further, to get more of this addictive man.

Castiel got rid of his grey T-shirt and threw it away, Dean let his eyes dart over the arousing sight blatantly. Castiel looked beautiful in the lush, golden sunlight filling the room; his skin was smooth and slightly tanned, his eyes were lucid and inhumanly glowing, his dark hair framed his face perfectly. Dean barely had time to get used to the sight, as Castiel's fingers tugged at his shirt impatiently. He took the hint and sat up a little, Castiel still sitting in his lap, and removed his shirt as well. The atmosphere heated up when their bare torsos slid together, when naked skin on skin collided, causing sparks of electricity. Excitement pumped through Dean's veins, his whole body throbbed with pleasure as he kissed Castiel hungrily again, hearing his appreciative hum – it vibrated against his bottom lip. He moved closer. His hands traveled down Castiel's muscular back, down to his firm butt, and he groped the two globes greedily, his fingernails digging into the slacks' texture. At that, Castiel moaned loudly and moved his pelvis forward against Dean's; he stopped kissing him and let their foreheads fall together. Their eyes were glued to one another, there were ragged breaths against their kiss-wet mouths. Dean was quickly losing every sense of control the longer he stared up into those dilated, gorgeous eyes consuming him attentively. Then Castiel began rutting against his erect cock in a smooth, tentative motion, and Dean's lids fluttered shut, overwhelmed with nervousness and arousal. The friction was wonderful, it set Dean alight and made his cock harden tempestuously.

He was on the edge of insanity when Castiel's lips traveled over his exposed neck, there were teasing teeth biting into his skin seductively as Castiel moved against him repeatedly. At some point Castiel lowered himself and lay down beside Dean, and Dean turned around so that they were facing each other. Dean dared to let his right hand cup Castiel's cheek, his other traveled down the length of his side. He loved how Castiel beheld him through half-closed eyes, how he sucked in a shaky breath as Dean's fingertips glided over his hipbone gently, then down over his taut abdomen; he savoured the feeling of touching this tempting body. Gingerly he placed his warm palm on Castiel's bulging pants, he felt thick and hard beneath him. Instinctively Dean squeezed the other man's erection, enthralled he observed him biting down on his lower lip, his eyes closing; a groan escaped those plump, kiss-swollen lips, Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from him.

"Is this okay?" he asked breathlessly, remembering Castiel's wish for his next sexual intercourse to matter. Castiel kept his eyes shut, he licked his bottom lip nervously. Dean felt how he shifted his hips and came closer, so that Dean's hand was completely stuffed with Castiel's clothed erection. Unknowingly he pressed the hard outline and stroked the head with his thumb, watching how a whole body shudder overwhelmed Castiel.

"God, yes", Castiel gasped and writhed sensually against Dean's working hand, his mouth fell open in a silent scream, his full lips were trembling. Dean removed his hands from Castiel's body all of a sudden, and he smiled a little when Castiel opened his eyes, discontent plainly visible in his darkened eyes. He examined Castiel's reactions closely as his fingers fled to Castiel's waistband, undoing the fly deftly with rough movements. The other man gasped, his eyes fell slightly shut, as Dean shoved the disturbing fabric aside, he pulled his tight-fitting, black pants down hungrily. Castiel's eyes became hazy, unfocussed, the moment Dean dared to lay his hand on the fully erect, throbbing dick in front of him. He closed his palm around it, and squeezed the hard flesh in his fist, all the while observing Castiel. It was the hottest thing to hear him moan and to feel him twitch in his grip as their heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on each other – he could see the inflamed lust in those dark, blue orbs, it touched a sore sensitivity in Dean. He sensed his own cock was painfully hard, growing huge in his narrowing jeans, but, for the love of God, he couldn't stop attending to Castiel's need, forgoing his own release.

It was unspeakably satisfying to watch Castiel come undone, how his hips bucked frantically forward as Dean let his thumb brush over the wet drop of precome on the pink forehead slowly. The veil of sweet torture and overmastering pleasure was written all over Castiel's face – his brows were furrowed, beads of sweat were appearing on his forehead; his mouth stood slightly agape, it quavered sensually whenever Dean's wrist moved upwards on his dick in forceful, slow motions. Dean thought he could get off from Castiel's sight and response to his fondlings alone. He leaned forward and claimed his lips once more, with relish he realized how Castiel leaned into the kiss unrestrainedly, offering himself to Dean wholly. His hands touched Dean's bare chest, fingernails were digging into his pecs ferociously. While their tongues slid lewdly together, Dean felt Castiel's fingers were trembling against his torso, sliding restlessly back and forth. The man within his reach tensed up noticeably, Dean perceived the shudders taking over his body. The movements of his rotating hips became erratic, quicker – Dean let go of those kiss-swollen, plump, pliant lips to watch pleasure wash over Castiel.

Dean thought he would never forget the sight given: Castiel's cheeks were tinted in a rosy colour, his skin glowed with sweat. A wild notion flickered in his fully blown eyes, they beheld no focus. His breathing sounded high-pitched, shortened. Dean saw his upper arms and his pecs becoming strenously taut, the muscles protruded enticingly. Then, all at once, Castiel whimpered, completely carried away, and he burst out into his orgasm, compressing his eyes. Dean couldn't help but bite on his lower lip to dampen his throaty moans, as hot streams of Castiel's come spilled over his hand in spurts, as he stroked him through each tidal wave shaking his body mercilessly. In an unspoken, mutual understanding, their bodies came to a halt, Dean's hand still enveloped Castiel's slackening member. He smiled gently when Castiel's eyes penetrated his in awe, a blush crept upon his cheeks. He returned the smile shyly and Dean leant forward to kiss him slowly, lovingly. There were still little tremors within Castiel's exhales; before Dean could come to terms with what had happened between them, Castiel bit down on Dean's bottom lip teasingly. Their eyes opened, and he saw mischief, mingled with temptation, sparkling in those bright blue eyes. Castiel's teeth tugged at Dean's lip, forcing a groan out of Dean's mouth. An adept hand glided over his exposed waist, grabbed his hip demandingly and pulled Dean closer.

Castiel released his mouth and kissed it briefly. He licked his own lip, as if he was tasting their blended spit; Dean was entranced at seeing the pink tongue, it gave him all kinds of indecent thoughts.

"Let me return the favour," Castiel whispered, his hands traveling down to Dean's bulging fly tentatively. He seeked for approval in Dean's look, and Dean had difficulties finding his speech. So he nodded, too dumbstruck to utter a word.

**TBC**

Unf... so... eeeh...what do you think? x3


	12. Chapter 12

Hi everybody...! Sorry for the late update, I think I'll post two chapters next week to make up for it! Thanks for your reviews and faves / follows so far! 8D A huge thanks again to Angelphoenixwings14, who proofread this chapter with the utmost care – she is your saviour from the horrible mistakes I made (e.g. writing payed instead of paid, yeah I know) or awful lengthy sentences. Her Destiel AU Second chances is a thing you should absolutely read and admire x) Now, back to our lovebirds... Oh before I forget, I know canonically Dean and Sam got their anti possession tattoos around season 3, but I couldn't resist including it here...

**Chapter 12**

Once Castiel received Dean's consent, he didn't beat around the bush. He let himself fall from the bed, as flexible as a cat, down upon his knees, and seized Dean's legs carefully and gave them a tug. Dean's limbs fell over the edge of the bed, he propped himself up on his elbows to see what Castiel was doing. Swift fingers worked on his jeans, undoing them gently – Castiel uplifted his eyes and met Dean's, the littlest smile was playing around the corners of his mouth. His cheeks were still as red as a beet, his breaths shallow and uneven, and yet he thirsted to pleasure Dean. The older Winchester's head was empty, filled with nothing but cravings and the wish for relief. Castiel pulled down his jeans and boxer-shorts; Dean helped him and hoisted his ass briefly. His purple, thick, jerking erection was revealed, he saw Castiel regarding it somewhat mesmerized as it pressed upwards against Dean's abdomen; his exposure made Dean understand he was solely at Castiel's mercy, vulnerable and unvarnished presented. He twitched nervously when he felt slender fingers on both of his thighs, stroking along the inner sides towards his crotch. Simultaneously, a careful, warm mouth kissed the side of his length several times, nibbled at the heated flesh provokingly. God, it felt incredible...

Dean couldn't help but become completely rigid once Castiel's wicked mouth traveled to the head of his cock, leaving airy kisses there as well. Scorching heat coursed through Dean's body, he felt his cheeks blushing vehemently. A wayward hand of his moved to his sweaty forehead, pressed hard on feverish skin as he felt on the verge of losing control. The world was spinning to and fro; he felt his heart racing in his chest wildly. Hesitantly, Castiel began licking along his delicate foreskin – his pace was terribly slow, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He had Dean writhing in the sheets within seconds. The coldness of the drying saliva made him shudder; he was rewarded for his patience, as Castiel's fiery, narrow mouth closed in on him oh so carefully. As he glided smoothly inside this tunnel, he could sense Castiel's sensitive tongue on the underside of his erection, how his palate squeezed him maddeningly. Instinctively his hands reached out when the tip of his cock pressed against the back of Castiel's throat and as he felt him hum against his pulsating member. The vibrations drove him insane while he sunk his fingers into soft, moist strands of Castiel's hair. He couldn't help but tug at them gingerly; between his spread legs, Castiel's head started bobbing up and down in a wonderfully gruesome speed. His tongue licked along Dean's length and he deep-throated Dean often.

Dean was well experienced in recognizing the wholeheartedness of a blowjob. He had received some which left him confused and ashamed, as if he had forced himself on the other person, because obviously it wasn't their thing and they had decided to do him a favour nevertheless. Castiel, however, was quite another thing. He practically devoured Dean, the play of his tongue and lips was skilled and suffused with honest desire. Dean felt himself harden more and more in Castiel's mouth, the other's fingers crawled over his whole body blatantly, grabbed his torso's muscles, clung to his sides. Once Castiel let go of him, and when he looked up into Dean's face, a tender sentiment bloomed within Dean. Those glassy eyes, his swollen lips, how ragged his breaths were... He looked stunningly beautiful; it cut straight through Dean's heart. Unaware of his deeds, he let one of his hands cup Castiel's face and he smiled lovingly at him, his thumb brushed over the stubbly jaw gently. When Castiel continued blowing him without inhibition, Dean let his hand rest on Castiel's cheek; the fingers of his other hand twisted dark, midnight hair, his fingernails dug into Castiel's scalp as the other man found a sensitive spot on his length and sucked on it harshly.

Affection possessed Dean when Castiel placed one hand above Dean's framing his cheek. It was such a little gesture, but it held so much meaning... Their fingers intertwined, Dean's cock seemed to burst with gripping pleasure. Before he understood what was happening, he came hard into Castiel's mouth, his fingers squeezing Castiel's mercilessly. His body rocked back and forth as hot waves of lust washed through him. He felt absolutely lightheaded, throaty, lengthy moans escaping him. Castiel gulped his come down greedily as Dean couldn't help but loll on his bed. When the ecstasy left him very slowly, he realized he was panting hard. Castiel released him with a sly smirk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes meeting Dean's baffled stare.

He was too perplexed to say something, his lungs preoccupying him as they demanded air desperately. For a moment, Dean just lay there, trying to breathe; Castiel crawled on the bed again and lay down beside him. Absentmindedly Dean fixed his clothes and shifted so that he lay completely on the mattress again. He turned to his side and watched Castiel resting on his side too: his elbow was propped up, he pillowed his head in his hand and he smiled calmly at Dean, utterly spent and satisfied. His forefinger came down on Dean's naked torso, drawing insignificant, small patterns on Dean's skin. Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from Castiel's, he was too fascinated with the other man to look away. Dean thought he appeared divine when he was sexually sated, his body emanated contentment and unbearable heat.

"Are you still complaining I abducted you to my bedroom?" Castiel asked quietly, an amused smile tearing at the corner of his mouth. Dean laughed in surprise at Castiel's cheekiness, with delight he saw Castiel was laughing heartily too. When they came down from their outburst, Castiel's fingers stroked over Dean's anti-possession tattoo hesitantly. He caught Dean staring at him and he blushed, as if he had overstepped a line. Dean took his hand in his and held it firmly, pressed against his chest.

"A strange tattoo you have there," Castiel mumbled, gazing briefly at Dean. "What is its meaning?"

At his words Dean was reminded he still wasn't allowed to share everything with Castiel. His head swam as he searched for a fitting explanation without giving himself away or making Castiel think he was nuts.

"It... protects me from evil spirits", he said pensively, loving to see Castiel smile a brittle, melancholic smile.

"You believe in evil spirits?"he asked, their eyes glued to one another. Dean nodded and squeezed Castiel's hand, held it close to his heart. Pain corded up his throat all of a sudden as memories of John's death came to his mind. How could he ignore that a demon had robbed him of his father, how could he not believe in evil? If only Castiel knew about the nasty things out there... He gulped heavily and averted his eyes.

"It's easier than believing in good things. Wickedness is everywhere..."

In an instant, Castiel moved closer and let his free hand sift through Dean's hair lovingly, looking firmly at him.

"But this, this is a good thing, right?" he whispered and kissed Dean sweetly, making Dean smile. He answered to the kiss and allowed Castiel to make him forget the heavy thoughts crossing his mind. Soon their kisses became heated and passionate, Dean couldn't get enough of them. For a while, they just lay in Castiel's bed and kissed and stroked one another tenderly, while the sun outside lost its strength and warmth. At long last, Dean found the willpower to let go of Castiel's addictive mouth. Their legs were entangled comfortably, Castiel made sure not to put weight on Dean's injured calf. It felt redeeming to finally share intimacies and to enjoy the other's company without restraints. The air was thick with attraction and an understanding that needed no words. Dean felt almost drowsy, and it wasn't the worst thing to inhale the soothing scent of Castiel, which stuck to the pillows and sheets as well, and to feel his fingers stroking him gently. At some point, they dozed off, their arms wrapped around the other's naked waist loosely.

…

They said goodbye to one another that Sunday with lengthy kisses and quiet parting words. Dean stood in the doorway, leaned towards Castiel to kiss him again and again, trying to memorize the sweet, clean taste of him. For the last time, Castiel's fingers stroked through Dean's hair lovingly, then over his cheek, and he pulled away gently, whispering a last "Goodnight". Dean smiled at him and turned around. He came back to the rehab-center just in time for dinner – luckily they had only slept for an hour or two, so he didn't draw further attention on himself due to having missed another meal. He must have emanated a satisfied vibe, because, as he sat down next to Ash and Garth, he could see their knowing glances and their broad smirks. Dean had no choice but to return their smiles shyly, he looked down and poked his food languidly. His mind and body couldn't let go of the remembrances of Castiel – his limbs still tingled with his kisses and caresses, he could still hear his voice, see the look of those lucid blue eyes. His lips were miraculously intoxicated with his kisses, they still felt somewhat numb...

…

Within the next days it became a welcomed habit that Castiel greeted Dean with breathtaking, passionate kisses in the morning, as if he had been starving for him the whole night through. He usually picked Dean up at his room after breakfast and each day his smile seemed to become softer, happier, broader. Dean's stomach did violent somersaults whenever Castiel appeared in his door, looking nothing short of absolutely marvelous.

In the mornings they trained in the swimming pool in the basement of the clinical center. At that time there were a dozen of other groups in the basin, working on their healing process and injured limbs as well. Castiel and Dean didn't even have to speak about it; they had a mutual agreement to not exchange caresses and kisses when other patients and nursing personnel were around. When Dean had to make his way along a route of bars in the water with extremely strenuous, slow steps though, he always felt Castiel's supporting hand on the bare small of his back. Also, his therapist's hand often grabbed his upper arm and dug into the firm flesh of his triceps, and though it must have looked like a simple gesture to others, Dean could feel the tremor within Castiel's restless fingers. And the encouraging look Castiel gave him,... to Dean it was plainly visible how many more emotions lingered in his soft glance when their eyes met. Though they didn't touch unnecessarily in the pool, Dean could always feel Castiel's hands rested too long on his body when they had to touch after all.

In the later afternoons, Dean found himself lying on a mat in Castiel's office, and then they were stretching and challenging his hurt calf as much as possible. Dean could feel the change after every workout, the life seemed to have returned to his leg, and if he strained himself, he could slightly bend it in different directions. Training with Castiel was rather difficult these days, his nearness was sometimes simply too tempting: When Castiel held Dean's upper thigh in a tight grip and bent over him to work on his leg, when his upper body hovered over Dean's – then he could see the spark of lust and yearning brightly lit in the dark blue orbs. His hot breath would fan over Dean's slightly parted lips, and temptation smote Dean mercilessly. Sometimes Castiel would allow him to kiss him in these moments, but it didn't take much – maybe Dean would fist his hair and pull him closer, or Castiel's tongue would slide heatedly together with his – and then they had to let go of each other, breathing heavily with kiss-wet lips. Impatient passion wanted to get the better of them and they had to stop touching the other man for a few minutes to contain themselves.

Dean didn't know what they were, despite the fact that they acted treacherously like infatuated lovers. He was glad neither he nor Castiel commented on it. It was already enough torture to deal with the thought of having to leave the other man in less than a month. The idea hovered above Dean's head constantly, like a dark, thick thundercloud, and his heart often raced in panic when his imagination ran free and he saw himself getting in the Impala and waving wordlessly goodbye to Castiel. He tried to shove those phantasms as far away from him as possible and to enjoy the given time here. Not even Sam made allusions regarding Castiel, and Dean wanted it to stay this way. It was easier to relax around Castiel when Sam's words of advice didn't ring in his head painfully loudly. Dean knew he was behaving unreasonably, but for once, just for once, he wanted to hold on to this chimera of having a life with the therapist.

They didn't see each other on Monday evening, because Castiel had all manner of things to do after work, and on Tuesday they couldn't meet because the clinic's staff held its weekly conference and Castiel had to attend to it. Now it was Wednesday, and Dean simply rejoiced at the given prospect to see Castiel again, in private for once. He bolted his dinner and made sure the present staff had seen his face, before he left the cafeteria and made his way through the park to Castiel's apartment. It was easier for him now to walk with his crutches, so he appeared on Castiel's doorstep within minutes. When the dark-haired man opened his door, Dean did his best to conceal his nervousness with the most charming smile his lips could form. Castiel responded with an equal one, he stepped forward and slung his arms around Dean's neck.

Dean's smile died on his lips when he could feel his lover so close again, as his body heat enveloped him. Castiel gazed into his eyes with a look of expectancy, and Dean's protective walls came tumbling down instantly. He tilted his head slowly, his eyes falling shut at the last moment, when he observed Castiel's lids closing slowly, pained sensuality written all over his face. Dean placed his lips upon Castiel's awaiting ones. Carefully he let them brush over the sinful, soft mouth presenting itself to him – then desire took over him and he kissed Castiel fiercely, opened his lips further when he let his tongue slip inside his hot, silky mouth.

Castiel's arms around his neck stiffened, his fingers got lost in Dean's short hair and he tugged lightly at the strands. Dean allowed him to tilt his head and their kisses deepened, became more frantic, heated. When they let go, Dean's head was swimming, his knees felt like jelly. Castiel's knowing look and his hesitant smile created a fond feeling in Dean's chest. He leaned in once more to claim those lips again, then they let go of one another and walked inside, closing the door behind them. Dean frowned at himself when the feeling of familiarity ran through his being like a soothing caress, as he followed Castiel into the kitchen. He had only been here twice, but it already felt homely to him. From the living room instrumental guitar music came, resounding within the whole flat, yet not in an annoying volume. It sounded Spanish or Mexican, Dean wasn't sure, though he thought it sounded rather bewitching and exotic. He couldn't stop looking at Castiel's occupied body when the man bent slightly down and got two bottles of beer out of the fridge, one of his feet tapping with the rhythm of the playing song. His therapist turned a little around to Dean and raised his brows, asking him "Do you want one?" and of course Dean nodded – beer had been his substitute for coffee, water and other soft drinks for quite some time now, though he could go without it if necessary. Castiel beamed at him and opened the bottles, a calm, however silently happy gleam within his eyes.

"Come on, let's go outside", he suggested and Dean trailed him thoughtlessly – only now he noticed there was a balcony bordering Castiel's kitchen; Castiel had already opened the glass door and stepped outside, but Dean couldn't see him any longer, which was simply weird. He couldn't have just vanished into thin air. With his crutches he hobbled to the balcony – he was met with the warm spring's air and the diminishing light of the nearing sundown. Crickets chirped nearby, the sound of squawking birds was in the air. Faintly, Dean could hear the murmur of the wind in the distance, stroking through the trees' new leaves. He let his eyes search for Castiel, and when he found him, his jaw dropped. He was lying on the wooden ground of the balcony, with legs crossed and his back leaning against a landscape of multi-coloured pillows. The whole floor was covered with blankets and pillows, it appeared like some cosy, comfortable hippie nest. Castiel took a sip from his beer, his eyes resting on Dean calmly, Dean could detect the hunch of amusement reverberate in those tempting blue gems.

"Do you want to come here or do you prefer to stand there just for decoration?", Castiel asked with a grin. Dean saw Castiel had the bottle of beer, which had been meant for him, placed next to him. The balcony wasn't that spacious to allow him gymnastic exercises and he didn't really know where to move his limbs to; he twisted his bottom lip between his teeth, worry lines came to his forehead instantly as he sought a place to lie down. Castiel spread his legs and tilted his head, the hand that wasn't holding his bottle patted his chest in a welcoming gesture, and then it dawned on Dean, as if he had fallen into ice-cold water. Oh...

"I won't bite, only if you want me to", Castiel said with a sly, little smirk, obviously aware of Dean's inner struggle. Dean tried desperately to repress the massive blush, which was forming on his cheeks at that moment. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Castiel's piercing look; it set something within him in motion. He couldn't remember giving his body his consent, but he lowered himself on the thick blankets and placed his crutches aside. To him it was a secret act of faith to turn his back to Castiel, he usually never did that around anyone. Then, he leaned oh so slowly back, his palms falling flat on Castiel's upper thighs nonchalantly. All at once, he felt the sturdy torso of the dark-haired man behind him, and he pressed his back against it fully, shifting his body weight on the smaller man carefully. Dean choked on his breath once he allowed his head to relax against Castiel's boney shoulder, his face turned towards the other's throat. He closed his lids for a while and savoured the sensation of the other man surrounding him: Dean could sense every trembling breath making Castiel's chest move against his back, how it stroked over his shoulder timidly. Castiel's legs framed Dean's, and he still didn't want to remove his hands from those muscular, firm upper thighs.

He began to let his fingers stroke the thighs through Castiel's jeans, peace of mind usurping him when he realized how easy it was to let himself go in Castiel's nearness. Sammy would have probably laughed at him for being such a cuddle bear, but this, this felt actually all kinds of nice. In a reassuring, startling and yet arousing way, all at once. The feeling was extended to completion when Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's waistline and pulled him firmer against him. Dean became rigid when he heard Castiel's sweet little sigh so very close to his ear, a warm, fuzzy ball of affection and inclination rumbled through his stomach. He felt light-headed, flabbergasted even. Had he ever let himself become so mellow around anyone? So heedless and careless? It didn't matter, he decided, when he perceived Castiel's deft fingertips sliding underneath the hem of his T-shirt. He shivered against the body behind him as he felt soft, innocent stroking fingers along his abs, which constricted with heated lust without his consent.

Once more, Dean felt terribly conscious of his body, and he didn't like it when someone touched him there, regardless of whether a man or a woman. He shooed Castiel's curious hands gently away and placed them on his hipbones instead, and there the fingers continued their little play of leaving senseless little drawings on Dean's skin. Dean grabbed his cool beer bottle and cradled it in his hands, smiling to himself a little when Castiel pressed a loveable kiss into his hair and breathed him in.

"Hands off my fat belly, I don't like that part of me," Dean grumbled a little, surprised at Castiel's chuckle.

"Are you nuts? What fat belly? Have you had a proper look at yourself?" Castiel retorted with a scoff. Dean could feel the slight movement in his body as the other drank from his beer too. Dean reconsidered his opinion about his looks as images of his naked body in the shower plunged into his mind. He took another swig from the bottle, then he sighed a contented sigh.

"Well, got to say... I noticed the change in my body within the last weeks. My legs are firmer, my arms feel broader. Not to mention the muscles in my back are stronger... And yeah, my belly might have improved, but it's nothing compared to your physique," he admitted in a pensive mutter. A blush crept upon his cheeks and he twisted his bottom lip between his teeth. It was a little awkward to talk about his body – he had never been worried about his looks, there had simply been too many people enjoying the given sight. But somehow his chest cramped with apprehension that he wasn't good enough for Castiel, that the other might not like what he had to offer. Suddenly, a delicate hand encompassed his; he watched how it took the bottle of beer away and placed it aside. He flinched with surprised pleasure when two hands glided underneath his shirt once more, groping his whole torso relentlessly. An aroused gasp came over his parted lips as Castiel rammed his teeth into Dean's neck wickedly. Fingernails scratched along his sides and made him stiffen rapidly. Dean listened to his own ragged breaths as Castiel sucked on his sensitive skin, about to leave a bloody hickey on the crook of his neck. Briefly, the sinful mouth left him. With half-closed eyes, he saw the hands wandering to his jeans, undoing the fly skillfully.

Hot breaths fanned into his ear, ghosted warmly over his hair - Dean felt absolutely petrified. An insolent hand snuck under his pants, and enclosed his growing hard-on gingerly. Castiel's teeth nibbled at Dean's earlobe and he couldn't help but arch his back and moan quietly, feeling utterly exposed to the other.

"To me, you're perfect, just the way you are," Castiel growled under his breath, increasing the blush on Dean's cheeks. God... when Castiel said such things it didn't sound as ridiculous as Dean would have usually thought. He wanted to believe him, wanted to take his compliments... Castiel's warm fingers formed a tight fist and he began to stroke Dean's hard length with adept movements, making Dean cringe and yelp with intense pleasure. Castiel's other hand caressed his torso reassuringly; the thumb that brushed over his erect nipple languidly, the fingers that dug into his hip roughly... Castiel changed the angle of his wrist and jerked Dean off faster, punching the air out of Dean's lungs in doing so. The friction was divine, his whole cock was bedaubed with his massive amount of slippery precome.

It was tiring to turn his head, but Dean wanted to see Castiel's face, he needed to read the honest affection written crystal clear in his admirable eyes. Once he tilted his head and met Castiel's eyes it hit him hard as he saw more than he could have possibly asked for. A gentle understanding for Dean's breakdown danced in those lovable blue eyes, while Castiel's hand kept working on Dean's downfall with sweet cruelty. For the love of God he couldn't avert his gaze from those dilated pupils, those agape plump, pink lips. Castiel seemed to cling to every of Dean's reactions, he seemed totally mesmerized with the way Dean's body heated up, how it began to tremble with each forceful stroke.

"You don't know what you're doing to me," Castiel whispered, a melancholic smile gracing his lips. Dean's heart hammered hysterically against his ribs at those words, tenderness for the other took a hold of him. He couldn't do anything to rescue himself, liquid, hot flames of his oncoming orgasm licked at the bottom of his spine as the minutes elapsed. He began to loll in Castiel's embrace, his body twitched uncontrollably – lewd moans and gasps resounded, and still, Dean couldn't stop drowning in Castiel's mellow, deep blue eyes.

"You're so damn attractive, Dean," Castiel rasped, making Dean blush harder. He felt as if in a haze, he felt so muzzy, flushed with heat and lust... His body was burning brightly, reacted easily to Castiel. Those soft lips moved and came to rest on his; Dean closed his lids and gave in to Castiel's adamant kisses. He was a boneless puddle of arousal, nothing but overwhelmed by Castiel's confident fondling. The other tasted of beer and warmth and home. Dean winced and heard his own high-pitched whimper as Castiel's tongue glided against his, as he ravaged his mouth passionately. His heartbeat became irregular, violent, and then, an alleviating maelstrom of delight streamed through Dean, sucked him in. He was tossing and turning in Castiel's lax embrace, his mouth still attached to Castiel's, as his orgasm washed over him. His come spilled over Castiel's slender fingers, dirtied them up, and damn, if that wasn't a kinky image...

Dean was floating on a cloud of dizziness and joy while his abs constricted again and again with each wave of his ongoing orgasm, he shook terribly against the other body. When he came around he realized he was kissing Castiel breathlessly, wetly, unrestrainedly. Appreciative hums vibrated against his sensitive mouth, tickled a little, and he pulled away, still huffing and puffing as if he had run a whole marathon. A shy smile came to Dean's mouth, for he was a little abashed to have come undone so thoughtlessly – but Castiel cupped his cheek gently and kissed him again, slowly and thoroughly, and when Dean melted against his moving mouth, he knew all was good, that he had done no wrong.

Castiel's fingers combed through Dean's hair fondly and their lips let go of one another. Dean couldn't help but smile when he saw Castiel was smiling too.

"I've missed this. I've missed seeing you like this," Castiel said quietly, placing a confused frown on his forehead. Castiel continued sifting a hand through his hair and it felt so enjoyable, Dean sighed, feeling damn snugly in Castiel's nearness.

"Satisfied... at ease," Castiel murmured, leaving airy kisses on Dean's forehead in between every word. His thoughtful words suffused Dean with happiness as he listened to the heavy, slow thuds of his heart. This felt all kinds of right, and when he relaxed against Castiel's body once more, he savoured the sensation as the other's arms came around him and held him tightly. With closed lids he paid attention to Castiel's deep, rhythmic breaths, nothing short of deeply contented.

**TBC**

Please let me know what you think x) Your opinion is always cherished! By the way, if you feel like eavesdropping on the progress I make for STRN, just go to my tumblr with the tag Soft Touch Raw Nerve x)


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